Eye of the Beholder
by Firestar9mm
Summary: Three friends. Two elective classes. One serious mess.
1. Strange and Beautiful

**Author's Introduction:**

_Finally_, I'm getting this first chapter out. Some days you feel like you just can't get anything done, you know?

Same drill as always—I don't own _Danny Phantom_, but it will always have a special place in my heart!

(fires starter's pistol.) And we're off!...

* * *

_**Eye of the Beholder**_

_A Danny Phantom fanfiction

* * *

_

**Chapter One: Strange and Beautiful**

_I've been watching your world from afar_

_I've been trying to be where you are_

_I've been secretly falling apart unseen_

_To me, you're strange and you're beautiful_

_You'd be so perfect with me but you just can't see_

_You turn every head but you don't see me_

**(_Strange and Beautiful_, Aqualung)

* * *

**

Danny Fenton had never been cool—at least not in his own opinion. He was the kind of guy who tripped on things, got stuffed in his own locker, and became tongue-tied when talking to cute girls. When he'd first started his freshman year at Casper High, his only aspirations had been a) to become popular and therefore gain access to the best tables in the lunchroom and the popular parties, and b) to go out with Paulina, the goddess of Casper High. And all of those things had depended, in large part, on being cool.

Since then, he sometimes looked back on those days and laughed at what he had thought was really important. Ever since an accident in his parents' lab had changed his DNA irreversibly, making him half human, half ghost, his life hadn't been that of your average high-school student. On the other hand, almost dying a few times had made him appreciate the true worth of things like the crazy family dinners in his house, with his father blathering on about his latest invention while Jazz battled him for the rest of the mashed potatoes. Or a Saturday night in on the sofa watching bad horror movies with his two best friends—Tucker in the wing chair hogging the remote while he and Sam shared the sofa, Sam's leg hooked around his because there simply wasn't enough room for them both to sprawl out comfortably.

Well, there _was_ enough room, but Danny wasn't going to tell Sam that.

Ever.

At any rate, his life, ghosts and all, had settled down into a comfortable shape lately. There was only one thing missing, and the more it preyed on his mind, the more he wanted it—and the more afraid he got of screwing it up and shattering aforementioned comfortable life completely to hell.

Sam had never cared whether or not Danny was cool. She'd always stuck by him, even when he'd done lousy things like ditch her and Tucker for other things, like popular parties, saving the world, or other girls. Well, she really hadn't liked some of it, but she hadn't unfriended him yet.

But things were different now. He couldn't stop his gaze from resting admiringly on the bare skin of her midriff when she reached for something above her head; he couldn't help inching closer to her on those Saturday nights they shared the sofa. Linked arms, clasped hands—he looked forward to any excuse he'd have to touch her. He didn't care so much if he got embarrassed at school; it was worth it to hear her laugh, worth it for the we're-in-this-together smile that she saved only for him.

And finally, on some not so very special day, he'd woken up and realized that all the rumors and jokes of years past had been absolutely true—he felt something deeper than friendship for the gothic princess he'd known since they were five.

He wanted…_more_.

And it scared him. Not just the feelings themselves, but the risk involved in expressing them. If he brought up the idea of dating to Sam, there was a real possibility that she'd just laugh, give him a hug and tell him he was crazy. That he wouldn't be…cool enough for her.

So he contented himself instead with the warmth of the line of her body against him as they watched movies. He waited hungrily for the more difficult ghost fights, when she would throw herself into his arms and hug him hard with relief that he was safe. He waited, and he wanted, and he took what he could get.

In the back of his head, he knew he couldn't go on like this forever. Something had to give.

But what?

* * *

On the blackboard, Lancer wrote, "_Beauty is in the eye of the beholder."_

Turning back to the class, he folded his arms and said, "How many of you have heard this statement before?"

Everyone raised their hands.

"Who'd like to explain it to the class? Mr. Foley?"

Snapping into Cramtastic mode, Tucker sat up a little straighter in his chair. "It means that beauty is relative. It doesn't matter what something looks like on the outside. If the person looking at it thinks it's beautiful, then it is."

"So one man's trash is another man's treasure?" Valerie asked. The class chuckled.

"Very good, Mr. Foley," Lancer said. "And yes, Ms. Gray, while your quote is slightly more glib, it does apply." Lancer started pacing slowly at the front of the room. "I suppose you're wondering what this has to do with your video essays. Your first assignment, ladies and gentlemen, is to take your cameras and capture beauty. Anytime, anyplace, anywhere, anyway you find it. _You _are the beholder, so anything goes, making this an almost _impossible_ assignment—" Here he slanted a glance at Danny Fenton. "—to _fail_." He waited for Danny to sink guiltily down in his seat before continuing. "As I teach more than one video essay class, I must insist that you not reveal the subject of your project until all assignments have been handed in. All cheaters will be caught and receive a failure for the course. Clear?"

The class moaned an affirmative.

"Remind me why we signed up for this instead of shop class?" Tucker groaned over the shrill cry of the final bell.

"Because you're not allowed to go near the belt sander, remember?" Danny answered as they filtered into the hallway.

"Oh, yeah."

Despite Tucker's complaints, Danny was in a good mood. The first day of his junior year at Casper High had gone by without mishap. Detentions so far: zero.

Of course, some things didn't change. "Want to go collect Sam and hit up the Nasty Burger?" Tucker asked.

"Cool," Danny said. "I'm ready for anything. I can't believe that nothing bad happened today!"

"Does that count?" Tucker asked, pointing to a plume of dark smoke coming from the home-ec kitchen.

"Okay, so nothing bad happened to _me_," Danny amended as they got closer to the source of the smoke.

"I'm sorry," someone lamented. "I am so sorry."

"Sam?" both boys asked incredulously when they saw who it was.

Their gothic beauty was wringing her hands desperately beneath a halo of smoke; she blushed bright as blood when she saw them standing outside the door. "H-hey, guys."

Ms. Tetschlav seemed an unlikely candidate to teach home economics, given her insane bodybuilder's physique and her distinct lack of femininity, but it was she who was glaring almost wearily at Sam from beneath her mullet. "That's okay, Sam. You can try it again tomorrow." Turning back to the rest of the class, she announced, "Class dismissed. If it didn't come out exactly right today, don't worry. We have the whole semester to work on it."

"Don't remind me," Sam groaned, slinging her faithful spider backpack over her shoulder. Some things definitely didn't change.

"Sam, why are you burning down the home-ec room?" Tucker asked as she joined them in the hallway. "I thought you signed up for shop."

"I _did_," Sam growled, eyelid twitching. "They didn't have any room for me in there. They told me _this_ was the only class open."

"That's weird," Danny said, falling into step on Sam's other side.

"It's ridiculous is what it is," Sam said. "If I was a boy, they'd have found room for me in that class."

Tucker slung an arm over Sam's shoulder. "Cheer up, emo kid. Let's go to the Nasty Burger. You can eat without having to cook."

Danny also slung an arm around Sam, making the hug complete. "We looooove you."

"Shut up, Fenton," Sam said, but she cuddled into the circle of their arms.

* * *

No matter how old they got, Danny had to admit that he'd always have a soft spot for their old comfortable booth at the Nasty Burger. He ran his fingers affectionately over the carvings they'd made in the table years ago with Sam's keys. The biggest one said _Tucker Rulez_, and over by the salt shakers the initials _D.F. _were still visible, close to a much neater _S.M._

Sam sighed, leaning back against the torn vinyl after they'd placated her with a vanilla milkshake. "So how was video workshop?" she asked. Danny pressed his toes down hard in his Converse All-Stars as her lips closed over her straw.

"You know Lancer," Danny said, shrugging and hoping it looked nonchalant. "We've got our first assignment already."

"Oh really? What?" Sam raised her eyebrows.

"We're not allowed to discuss it outside of class," Tucker said, swirling a French fry in some ketchup. "Last year some of the classes swapped tapes, so now Lancer's made it impossible to cheat."

"It looks like Nathan's getting an early start," Sam quipped, looking across the restaurant.

"Get away from me!" Valerie Gray shrieked, hopping away from her stalker. "I can't _be_ your assignment, I'm in the _class_, Nathan!"

"Valerie!" the frizzy-haired geek wailed, waving a video camera as he lumbered after the object of his affections. "I'd risk a failing grade for you!"

The three friends chuckled. "You have to give Nathan points for persistence," Tucker said.

"I don't think Valerie wants to give Nathan _anything_," Danny laughed.

"I guess it's safe to say your video project is not a ghost-hunting documentary," Sam said.

Tucker laughed. "Don't even try to guess, Sam. You'll never get it."

Meanwhile, over on the "popular" side of the Nasty Burger, a crowd was slowly amassing around Paulina, some armed with video cameras. "Wait!" the Queen of Casper High cried, posing and pouting at her admirers. "If you're going to film me, I need to fix my _hair_!"

Sam tried again. "Horror movie?"

Even Danny had to laugh at that.

* * *

Late afternoon was shading into evening when the three friends decided to call it a day. "See you guys tomorrow," Tucker said, turning towards home. "I've got to go buy a video camera for this project."

"Tucker, don't you _have_ a video camera?" Sam asked, folding her arms. "You brought it when we went out for my birthday."

Tucker gave her a look that clearly said she was behind the times. "Sam, your birthday was weeks ago—_months_, if memory serves. I can't use an obsolete camera for this! I need something state-of-the-art to get a better grade!"

Danny snickered as Sam rolled her eyes. "Of course. Silly me," the goth said.

"See ya, Tuck," Danny laughed. He and Sam turned in the opposite direction.

They'd been walking in companionable silence for a block when she slanted a curious glance at him. He answered with a smile, unsure of what she was thinking. They crossed the street, and she finally broke the silence.

"I live this way," she said, pointing in the direction they were going.

Danny nodded.

She chuckled. "_You_ don't."

He laughed, too, but couldn't stop a blush from creeping onto his face. "Can't a guy walk a girl home?" he asked lightly, shrugging.

She smiled a little, but played it off with a joke and a snooty accent. "Why thank you, Mr. Fenton. That is oh so kind of you."

Playing along, he bowed slightly. "It would be my pleasure, Ms. Manson. Shall we?"

"We shall." She gathered up what little there was of her short plaid skirt to curtsy, and then they continued down the block.

"So come on!" Sam said when they'd gone a little further. She jabbed a gentle elbow into his side. "Tell me what your video projects are about."

Danny sighed. "Sam, I can't, remember? Lancer said if we discuss it with anyone outside of class, we fail."

Sam stamped her foot. "Danny, I won't tell! How would he even find out?"

Danny allowed himself to pale remembering some of his past run-ins with Lancer. The haunted house incident had been particularly upsetting. "He has ears everywhere. He's like the Casper High gestapo."

Sam chuckled. "Who says you don't pay attention in history?"

"_Lancer_," Danny emphasized. It only made her laugh harder.

"Well, if you can't tell me what the video is about, can I at least watch it when you're done?" Sam asked as they got to her doorstep.

He nodded. "_If_ I ever decide what I'm going to do. I'm not sure where to begin."

Sam dug in her backpack for her keys. "Well, call me if there's anything I can do to help."

Danny arched his eyebrows at her. "Don't say that unless you mean it. I might take you up on it."

But Sam didn't see it as the threat he thought it was. She only smiled. "Danny, given what I _usually _help you with, a video essay ought to be a piece of cake." And then the door closed and she was gone.

All the lonely walk home, Danny tried to come up with an idea for his video essay, but he was distracted by thoughts of her, by the _more_ he felt was always out of his reach.

* * *

After dinner, Danny knocked on the doorframe of the lab. Poking his head in, he noticed his father hunched over one of the workstations. "Dad? I need to borrow some electronic equipment."

"That's my boy!" Jack Fenton raised his head from the motherboard and tangle of wires that he was working on, eyes gleaming with excitement. "I've dreamt of this day ever since you took your first toddling steps down here."

Leaping out of his chair, Jack clapped his heavy hands excitedly down on his son's shoulders, which nearly stuffed Danny down into his shoes. Suppressing a sniffle, the elder Fenton composed himself and started displaying strange objects to Danny. "What do you need, Danny? Fenton Ghost Peeler? Fenton Boo-Merang?" He reached for a slim silver staff with a large green switch. "May I recommend the Jack O'Nine Tails?"

Danny flinched, his hands flying up to cover his face. "_No_! …I mean, ah, no thanks, Dad. Actually, what I need to borrow is your video camera."

If Danny had said, "_I've decided to run away and join the Circus Gothica,"_ his father couldn't have looked more disappointed.

"Video…camera?" Jack asked slowly.

"Yeah. I'm taking a video essay class in school, and we've got our first assignment already. I want to get started on my project right away, so can I borrow it?" Danny rushed the words—the more time his father had to think about it, the bigger the chance he'd say no.

The proud look had disappeared completely. Wordlessly, Jack pointed to the wastebasket, which was overflowing with shattered glass.

Danny frowned. "That was an accident."

The pointing finger slid to a shattered computer monitor.

"Accident," Danny emphasized.

Jack indicated the remains of the Ghost Weasel.

Danny crossed his arms and lifted his chin defiantly. "_You_ broke that."

Jack blinked, then frowned back. "Not the point, Danny. The point is that your track record with delicate equipment is…_dodgy_."

"_You_ broke the Ghost Weasel," Danny shot back. "Remember?" Seeing the look on his father's face, he decided to take a different tack. "Anyway, you're always saying I need to care more about my grades. I really want to do a good job on this project, Dad, and I need your camera to do that."

It was a good argument. Danny could practically see the gears in his father's head turning, trying to figure out a way around it.

"Look, if I break the camera, I'll pay for it," Danny threw out as a last desperate measure.

It took Jack another minute to mull that over, but then he smiled. "You know what, Danny? You're right. You're growing up, you're learning to be responsible, and you should be treated like it."

Relieved, Danny smiled. "Thanks, Dad. I promise to be really, really careful."

Together, the two Fenton men retrieved the video camera from the hall closet. Once the camera was in his hands, Danny held it up to examine it, peering through the viewfinder and swinging the digital screen open. "Now, this hasn't been...tinkered with, right Dad? I mean, you and Mom haven't tried to turn it into ghost equipment?"

"No, I haven't gotten a chance to improve this yet." Then Jack's eyes lit up. "I was thinking of fixing it so it can track ecto-signatures and display them on the digital screen! What do you think?"

Danny closed the screen. "I'm thinking that we should let me finish my project first."

Jack clapped his son on the shoulder. "That's my boy, always thinking ahead. What are you going to film for your project?"

Danny frowned, and not just because of the stinging in his shoulder. "Haven't decided yet," he mumbled. "I keep getting…distracted."

Jack laughed. "I know what you mean. Sometimes I'll be trying to focus on dinner, but all I'll be able to think of is the invention I've left half-finished in the lab! Or I'll be down in the lab, and suddenly I can't get my mind off of bacon—"

"This isn't like that," Danny interrupted, wrinkling his nose. "Thanks for the camera, Dad," he added, gesturing with the instrument.

"Any time, son. And let me know if you film any ghosts!" Jack called as Danny headed for his room.

* * *

"_Dude, I just chopped off your arm and hit you with it!"_ Tucker cheered, his grin filling the tiny square of the webcam window. The rest of Danny's computer screen was playing _Bloodspurt_ _Arena_. Well, actually, it was a bootlegged version that Tucker had pirated off the internet. "_Where's your focus, Danny?"_

Sometimes Danny felt like keeping his feelings for Sam a secret was harder than keeping his ghost powers a secret. "Lancer's video essay," he said, which wasn't entirely a lie—he _was_ thinking about that, too. "I seriously have no idea what I'm going to film. I'm a teenaged boy. I don't appreciate beauty!" he laughed.

"_I appreciate beauty," _Tucker said. "_I can't wait to try my new camera in the girls' gym class!"_

"You appreciate _booty_," Danny corrected, rolling his eyes.

Tucker laughed. Sarcasm traveled well over the webcam. "_Maybe, but at least I have an idea for my essay. That's more than you've got, ghost boy!"_

Danny frowned, his frustration affecting the part of his brain that censored what he said. "I can't concentrate! All I can think of is—"

Some good ideas are the product of extensive planning, hard work, and much research. This wasn't like that at all—it came to Danny fully formed, with the kind of clarity you usually needed to meditate to have. But if he could pull it off, he could pass Lancer's assignment…

…_and_, if he was lucky, maybe it might be the right way to say something he didn't quite have the words for yet.

"_Hello! Ground Control to Major Danny!" _Tucker said on his end of the webcam. "_All you can think of is what?"_

"I know I always say this, but if I weren't a C student, I'd have thought of this sooner," Danny chuckled. "I've got to go, Tuck. See you tomorrow, okay?"

"_Wait_ a minute, Danny. Thought of _what_ sooner?" Tucker was thoroughly confused. "Do you know what you're going to do for your project?"

"I think so. I'll fill you in later, promise. Wish me luck!"

"Wish you luck for _what_?" Tucker screeched as Danny closed the webcam window.

Turning away from the computer, Danny dialed a number he'd known by heart since the first day he'd had a cell phone.

"_Danny?"_ Sam sounded sleepy. "_It's 2 in the morning. What's wrong?"_ Suddenly she shot awake. "_Ghost trouble?"_

"No, not tonight," Danny said. "I just have a favor to ask you."

Now that she knew their lives were not in immediate danger, she let out an audible yawn. "_You know you can ask me for anything, Danny, but could this have waited till morning?"_

Danny felt guilty for waking her up. "I'm sorry. It just hit me all of a sudden." That was only partially true. The idea had hit him all of a sudden, but his feelings for Sam in themselves were much more of a gradual thing, something he hadn't noticed sneak up on him until she was always the last thing he thought about before dropping off to sleep. "Do you still want to help me with my video essay?"

Sam was still fighting fatigue; he could picture her sitting up in bed, the phone cradled between one pale shoulder and her puzzled face as she tried to force herself to full alert. "_Video…? Oh, sure…sure, Danny. What do you want me to do?"_

"Star in it."

_"What?"_ That gave her a kick-start, all right. _"Danny, have you lost it? I was thinking something more along the lines of holding a cue card or bringing you coffee or something."_

"Come on, Sammy. You said you wanted to help me," Danny cajoled. "It'll be fun."

_"No it won't,"_ Sam said. _"I hate the way I sound on camera, and I'm a terrible actress!"_

"No, you're not!" Danny said. "You were great when we did _The Miracle Worker_ in eighth grade."

_"I played **Helen Keller**, moron,"_ Sam shot back. _"I didn't have any **lines**."_

Trying not to laugh, he kept pressing. "Sam, you wouldn't even _have_ to act in my video. All you have to do is be yourself. It'll be a piece of cake. A big piece of raspberry velvet cake, with those little bat sprinkles you like. Please? Pretty please?"

Sam sighed reluctantly on the other end of the line, letting him know this was an effort. _"All right!_ _All right. Stop begging, it's totally pathetic."_

Yes! Phase one complete. "You won't regret this, Sam."

_"I already regret this,"_ was the good-natured retort. _"So what's the video about?"_

Danny froze. If he hadn't been a C student, he might have remembered that Sam was an A student and therefore too smart to fall for the old be-in-my-video-essay trick without asking at least one question. "What's the video about?" was a good one, too. But he couldn't tell her what the assignment was about for two reasons—one, Lancer had told them not to tell anyone outside of the class what the assignments were about under risk of a failing grade; and two, if Sam knew what the assignment was about she'd wonder why he'd asked her to be his subject, and he'd die of embarrassment. Both seemed equally unappealing.

"All you have to do is be yourself," he finally repeated. "I mean, just do what you always do. Pretend I don't have the camera—pretend I'm not even there."

Sam chuckled. "_That might be hard."_

"What do you mean?"

"_Well, you stand out." _Her voice was warm. "_You're unique."_

"Well…unique is good, right?" he asked, remembering how his best friend had comforted him on the scariest days of his life—when he'd first gotten his ghost powers.

"_It's very good_." She sighed. "_So do I have to get all pretty tomorrow in case you're filming?"_

"Aww, Sam, you're always pretty," he said, making his tone lighthearted enough that she'd think he was teasing instead of telling the truth.

_"Oh, shut up. I'm hanging up on you now."_ Sam laughed. "_Night, Danny."_

"Goodnight, Sam."

But Danny couldn't sleep. As soon as he hung up the phone, he imagined Sam sliding beneath her dark sheets, long lashes fluttering down to her pale cheeks, her bosom rising and falling with her breathing beneath the black chemise he'd once glimpsed thrown over her chair. He wished he were there to see it—with or without his camera.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

"**Strange and Beautiful" **by **Aqualung** is Danny and Sam all over in my opinion. It can be found on the album of the same name.

Back when I was in college, my best friend Shazzer asked me to star in her video workshop project. It involved ten boxes of Yodels, a straitjacket, and eight hours of filming on our college campus. It was one of the best times I've ever had, and it's probably where the idea for this story came from.

I need to have a small **rant**. Don't worry, no one will get hurt. (sighs, lights up a cigarette.) Firestar9mm is getting a little tired of reading fics where the authors blatantly go against canon for no reason. For instance, I've noticed that a lot of authors describe Danny as suddenly having developed huge muscles. Part of the reason we love Danny is because he's not always so "super", you know? Please don't put him on steroids! He's a halfa, not a juicehead. And poor Sam—a lot of authors write her as having "grown her hair longer" (do they have long hair, too? Is long plain hair "in" or something?) or even **_worse_**, they describe her as having "grown out of her goth style a little" or worse, "toned her goth thing down". This usually involves a few paragraphs describing Sam wearing outfits that stray away from goth and are a little more mainstream (I'll skip the speculation that these outfits probably reside in the writer's closet, or a local American Eagle Outfitters. Okay, I guess I didn't skip it...) Now, I'm probably biased because I'm goth and I live in New York, but even if I was a poster girl for Abercrombie & Fitch this would still offend me, because I like the character of Sam and I think it's disrespectful to her to change her style. I feel that she's strong in her convictions and she does what she does and wears what she wears because she likes it, not just because it makes a statement. I don't think she's the type who'd mellow out over the years and acquiesce to the societal norm of tank tops with girly designs and capri pants. Are all these authors allergic to canon or something? Come on, guys—pastels? I think not. So I just want to clarify: Dash and Kwan are still bigger than Danny in this fic. There will be no pastel colors, and any capri pants will be worn only by Paulina. (stubs out cigarette.) Okay, rant over. Thanks XD Moving on…

Tucker says "**Ground Control to Major Danny!"** at one point; this is a reference to one of my favorite David Bowie songs, "Space Oddity". I had the _biggest_ crush on him when I was a little girl.

There is no such game as _Bloodspurt_ _Arena_, but I've played plenty of games with the same premise. I think Tucker and I would be very good friends. XD

I had to be in **William Gibson's** _The_ _Miracle Worker_ once in grade school. I can't remember who I played—I think I played Helen's mom or something. (shudder) Not my favorite acting experience—I was much better years later as Dracula. :F

There are a few references to past episodes in this story, such as the **Cramtastic** intensive test-prep from "Fanning the Flames", the **Circus Gothica **from "Control Freaks", and the **Fenton Ghost Weasel **from "Attack of the Killer Garage Sale".

Thanks to anyone who's reading as always! Chapter Two is next—Danny and Tucker begin filming in earnest. Be afraid. Be very afraid.


	2. Girls On Film

**Author's Introduction:**

Don't own _Danny Phantom_. I wish I could say that in a funnier way, but I'm just not feeling witty tonight!

Okay, here's chapter two. And…action!

* * *

_**Eye of the Beholder**_

_A Danny Phantom fanfiction

* * *

_

**Chapter Two: Girls on Film**

_See them walking hand in hand across the bridge at midnight  
Heads turning as the lights flashing out it's so bright  
Then walk right out to the fourline track  
There's a camera rolling on her back, on her back  
And I sense the rhythm humming in a frenzy all the way down her spine  
__Girls on film  
__Girls on film_

**(_Girls on Film_, Duran Duran)

* * *

**

"Beautiful," Sam breathed. "It's the single most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life."

"Beautiful? Where?" Tucker asked, hoisting his camera.

Sam had just parked her 1993 Mustang in the Casper High parking lot—although both she and Danny had gotten their licenses earlier in the winter, she was the only one who had a car and a parking pass. Tucker was scheduled to take the test for the third time in October—he wasn't the most careful driver in the world. As a result, Sam was usually the chauffeur, since Jazz had taken her Jetta with her to college and Jack was reluctant to lend Danny the Fenton RV. Which wasn't a big deal; Sam and Tucker were reluctant to ride in the Fenton RV if Danny (or any other Fenton) was behind the wheel.

Sam had picked Tucker up in front of his house; she'd called Danny to see if he wanted a ride, but he'd left early that morning, so the goth and the techno-geek were the first to stumble upon the beauty in the parking lot.

"I bet it's fast," Sam said longingly as she got out of her car and walked closer to the object of her current affections.

"I bet it costs a fortune," Tucker said, slamming his door. "It's foreign."

"It's fabulous," Sam sighed.

It was a Ferrari. It seemed to lounge in its parking space, as if it were far too cool for the other cars and it was just waiting for the cast of a John Hughes film to show up and ride off into the sunset. Like any good Ferrari, the paint shone candy apple red in the early morning sunlight.

Tucker was getting a kick out of Sam, who was sidling worshipfully around the hood. "Hello gorgeous," she said. "What's your name...?"

"Her name is Get Away From My Car, Vampira," a voice called. Tucker and Sam both turned to see Dash Baxter crossing the blacktop. His Casper High gym shirt was clinging to him, soaked with sweat; he'd apparently been running laps on the track before class. "I don't want her to get infected with goth. She likes quarterbacks."

Sam frowned. "She's too good for the likes of you."

"That is a _hot_ car, Dash," Tucker said appreciatively, purposely not referring to the car as "she". "How much did it set you back?"

"More than it costs you to exist, Foley!" Dash sneered, popping the trunk. Resurfacing with a gym bag, he slammed the trunk and jabbed the air between them with his keys. "Now keep back two hundred feet, losers. And don't park your hoopty anywhere near my ride, got that?"

"Hoopty!" Sam bristled. "Baby is _not_ a hoopty!"

Sam was very protective of her Mustang. She'd bought it with her own money—money she'd earned working part time at the veterinary hospital—and was very proud of it. 1993 was the last year Ford made the Mustang with the old, boxy body as opposed to the more rounded modern models, and Sam claimed she liked it better that way. It also helped her keep up the pretense that she _wasn't_ the richest girl at Casper High—a fact a lot of the students still didn't know. Tucker was often curious as to why she didn't buy something better when she could afford it, but Sam had a habit of becoming attached to things that were in need of a little love. Like him and Danny, for instance.

So he repaid the favor in kind by shouting a retort at the retreating jock. "Hit the showers, Dash! I hope you like what I carve into your car later with my keys!" Then he turned to Sam. " 'Baby'? _You_ named your car 'Baby'?"

Sam blushed. "Yeah. People like Dash may _think_ it's a hoopty...but _nobody_ puts Baby in the corner!"

Tucker shook his head, smiling. "Don't worry, Sam, I won't tell the other goths how lame you are."

Instead of a verbal retort, Sam decided on a noogie. She had a struggling Tucker in a headlock back near the Mustang when something shot out and grabbed her ankle.

Shrieking, Sam released Tucker and looked down. A hand the color of caramel was wrapped around her combat boot. The hand was attached to an arm that was in turn attached to something beneath the Mustang.

"Ghost hand!" Tucker shouted.

"What the hell!" Sam said, yanking her foot out of the hand's grasp.

"It's me," Valerie Gray said. "Is he gone?"

"Valerie?" Sam asked.

"Is who gone?" Tucker asked. "Dash?"

"_Valerie_!" Nathan wailed from somewhere across the parking lot, camera still in hand.

"Oh," Sam and Tucker said together. Amusedly, they watched Nathan's love-glazed eyes scan the parking lot. When he didn't see Valerie, he turned and headed back towards the school.

"Coast is clear," Sam said, knocking gently on the side of the Mustang.

"Thanks," Valerie groaned, crawling out from under the Mustang. "Good thing you parked here when you did."

"You scared me for a second there," Sam laughed. "For a minute, I thought I'd run you over!"

Valerie narrowed her eyes, but she was smiling. "Yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you, Manson?"

Tucker smiled. Over the years, Valerie and Sam had become—well, maybe not quite friends, but something less than enemies. He still held out hope that they might end up being a happy foursome, if he could just convince Valerie that he wasn't a total loser...

"Thanks for not blowing my cover, guys," Valerie said, getting to her feet and brushing dirt off her bright skirt. "I've got to get inside before he comes back."

"If you need another hiding place, I'd be happy to shove you into your locker later!" Sam called cheerfully, waving.

"Yeah, I'll just bet you would!" was Valerie's answer from behind the gym block.

Tucker laughed. "I've got to give you credit, Sam. You do a good job of trying to get along with her."

Sam shrugged. "Listen, Tuck, I can't be completely antisocial all the time. I have other things to think about. Valerie's not so bad. I'm just still not quite past the 'waste Danny Phantom' part," she said. "Want to go get bagels in the cafeteria?"

"What about Danny?" Tucker asked as they walked towards the school doors. "Shouldn't we look for him?"

"What do you mean? He's over there, hiding in that bush," Sam said. "He's been there since Dash left." Sam waved at the bushes beside the school doors. "Hi, Danny."

The bush rustled. "Sam! You're supposed to pretend I'm not here!"

Sam slapped her forehead. "Sorry, Danny. I forgot."

"Wait a minute," Tucker said. "Why is Danny hiding in a bush, and why are you pretending he's not in there?"

"It's for his video project," Sam said. "I'm supposed to act like he's not filming."

"Wait _another_ minute!" Tucker said. "He's filming _you_ for his video project, Sam?"

"He asked me last night," Sam said, turning back towards the bush. "Right, Danny?"

"Stop _talking_ to me," the bush said angrily. "I'm not _here_."

"Oh. Right."

"Never mind," Danny sighed, climbing out of the bush. "Did I hear you guys say something about bagels?"

* * *

Tucker had figured Sam would last maybe thirty minutes or so before she lost her patience with being filmed. As it turned out, she didn't make it more than ten. 

"Okay, even the part of me that's flattered you asked for my help is getting creeped out," Sam said, putting her hand over the camera lens, which Danny had thoughtfully positioned about four inches away from her face. "Danny, it's not fun to eat on camera."

"You got butter on the lens," Danny lamented, rubbing at the camera with the tail of his shirt. "Although, this belongs to my dad. I'm sure he's gotten ketchup and ranch dressing on it at some point."

"Seriously, Danny. Haven't you ever filmed anybody before? You need to back up a little. That's why they make the zoom function."

"I tried that," Danny said. "Remember? The bush?"

Sam sighed and put a hand on Danny's arm. "Look, I know Lancer said you'll get in trouble if you talk about the projects outside of class, but maybe it would help if you told me what it's about so I'd know what to do."

Danny smiled at the warmth of her hand on his arm, but was immediately disappointed when she removed it, having been distracted by something happening on Tucker's side of the table.

"What are _you_ smiling at, Foley?" she demanded.

"Nothing," Tucker chuckled. "I just can't believe Danny's filming _you_ for his project."

Sam narrowed her eyes warily. "That's the second time you've said that. Why is this so funny, Tucker?"

Danny kicked Tucker under the table. Hard. Tucker tried to muffle his giggles, but it was too late. Sam was suspicious now. Danny had a sudden urge to strangle the techno-geek, but he decided to focus his energy on coming up with a plausible explanation.

"Well, of course, I need Sam for my project, Tuck," he said, as smoothly as he could with the Cup of Death still floating before his eyes. "I mean, we're together all the time anyway. It'll be easy to follow her around with a video camera for two weeks!" There. That wasn't a lie, it just wasn't entirely true.

Tucker arched a brow, waiting for the other shoe to drop. "This is true..."

Sam looked like curiosity was slowly eating her from the inside out. "_What_ is this video about?"

Danny and Tucker exchanged looks. The ghost boy was clearly pleading with Tucker to help him out.

"He can't tell you," Tucker said after a beat. "Remember? Lancer said we'd fail if we told."

Sam smiled, her patented please-please-give-me-what-I-want smile. It would have melted a lesser man into his socks, but Danny and Tucker had years of practice defending against it. "Come on, guys!" she pleaded. "If I'm going to be in the video, I have to know what it's about, right?"

"Sam, I fail enough projects on my own. I don't need any help from you!" Danny laughed, still fighting off the lingering affects of that smile.

Sam pouted, teeth pressing beguilingly into her lower lip. Danny felt a tremor shake him and his resolve begin to crumble. Tucker must have noticed, because he stomped Danny's foot beneath the table, obviously sending a don't-give-in message. Pain helped. "Seriously, Sam. Can't you just trust me on this one?"

Sam's expression melted into the confident cruelty of a prison torture expert. "You leave me no choice, Fenton."

In order to better film Sam, Danny had taken a seat beside her at the table, with Tucker across from them both. This position put Danny in easy reach, and as soon as Sam finished the sentence, she reached over and feathered her fingers lightly against his ribs.

Life was weird when you grew up with someone. On the one hand, you got to spend your every waking moment with them, accruing memories and learning everything there was to know about them. On the down side, it became awkward to talk about more grown-up things like romance and heartbreak, or to possibly confess to your best friend that you were hopelessly in love with her. But the worst part about growing up alongside someone was that they knew all your most embarrassing secrets, like whose lunch box you threw up in when you were in second grade, or whether or not you were ticklish.

Danny _was_ ticklish, and Sam knew it. His reaction was instantaneous; he tried to slide his chair away from her but she pressed forward. Her momentum carried him out of the chair and onto the floor, where they crash-landed. She ended up on top of him, her weight immobilizing his legs as her fingers continued to jab at his sensitive sides.

"Tell me, Danny-boy," she warned playfully.

Tucker had leapt out of his chair when they hit the floor. "Sam!" he said, laughing in disbelief.

"Sam, don't. Stop. Really!" Danny pleaded through his own laughter, his voice cracking with the strain.

"You gonna tell me?" she teased, breaking his attempted hold on her wrists. "I can do this all morning!"

"Stop. _Stop_!" Danny's eyes were starting to tear up. His stomach ached from laughing. "I'll do anything you want! I'll do anything you want."

She stopped tickling him and leaned her weight back on his legs, but made no move to get off of him. "Anything I want?" she asked, a barely perceptible gleam in her eye.

He relaxed beneath her, trying to catch his breath. He wanted suddenly to put his hands around her waist, just at the part where skin disappeared into skirt, feel his fingertips touching in the back. "Anything you want."

Tucker's voice wiggled its way into the hushed silence they were sitting in. "Hello? Guys? I'm standing right here," the techno-geek laughed.

Danny ignored him, his senses preoccupied. _Just tell me what you want, Sam. It'll be good, I promise..._

Something flickered across Sam's face, an emotion he couldn't identify, but there was just a hint of longing behind it that gave him hope. He would just have to help her, show her that it was right. He started to reach for her.

"Um...excuse me?"

And just like that the spell was broken; Sam's head turned and her attention was no longer focused on him. Reluctantly, Danny swung his own gaze to see what had interrupted. Valerie Gray was standing with a bottle of Snapple in one hand and a bagel in the other, looking curious. "Can I get by here?"

It only occurred to Danny then that the rest of the world had continued existing, and that he and Sam were indeed sprawled on the very public floor of the cafeteria, blocking foot traffic in the aisle.

Apparently it hadn't occurred to Sam either; a blush flooded her face and she immediately jumped to her feet. "Hey, Val. Sure. Sorry."

Valerie made her escape, seemingly embarrassed by her own intrusion, but the damage had been done. Sam returned to her chair, and Danny slowly got to his feet. He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or disappointed.

"Sorry I tackled you to the floor like that," Sam said, as if that was all that had happened, as if she hadn't felt that electricity pass between them. "Are you okay?"

Danny wondered why she was apologizing. He could still feel the ghost of her weight in his lap, and his stomach was fluttery from more than just the strain of laughing. "Yeah," he said.

And then, unbelievably, she gave him a bloodthirsty grin and cricked her fingers into hooks. "Good. Now tell me what the video's about, or I'll do it again."

"_No_," Tucker said, reaching across the table to grab her hands. "Danny, just tell her! You guys are going to give me a heart attack."

A couple of synapses in Danny's brain fused as he realized he still didn't have a believable story. If he could explain away ghost hunting to parents and teachers daily, why couldn't he come up with an excuse for this? Why did Jazz have to get all the brains in the family?

And then it came to him. It was so simple he almost couldn't believe it—but Sam would believe it, if he could only convince Tucker to play ball.

He smiled assuredly. "Okay, Sam, you got me. We're supposed to pick a subject and follow them around with a camera as they go about their daily routine."

Tucker gave Danny a look that plainly said how stupid that sounded.

But Sam wrinkled her nose. "That's it? That doesn't sound like a big deal. Lancer's worried people will cheat on _that_?"

"Well, the videos have to be interesting," Danny said. "We're being graded on content _and_ originality." Once again, not a lie. The assignment sheet did go into detail about that. Shrugging, he continued, "And you're the most original person I know, so..."

A blush tinted Sam's pale cheek. It was so cute that Danny felt guilty, but he was still being truthful—she _was_ the most original person he knew. "Are you sure you didn't just pick me because you couldn't get within fifty yards of Paulina?" she asked, arching a brow.

Danny smiled. "Trust me, Sam. I think I'm past the point where I would have filmed someone like Paulina."

"Yeah, Sam, you're perfect for _his_ video!" Tucker cackled gleefully.

The sarcasm wasn't lost on Danny. He gave Tucker a glare that clearly said "Don't screw this up for me".

"Well, okay." Sam smiled. "This is going to be fun. I can't wait to see the video when it's done!"

Tucker chuckled. "Neither can I."

Danny kicked him under the table, but Tucker only laughed harder.

"So, what are you filming for your video, Tucker?" Sam asked as the techno-geek's laughter died down to hiccups.

Tucker's eyes twinkled and he held up his camera. "Well, I've got you pouncing on Danny on film. That's a start!"

Danny's eyes shot wide, the blackmail implications of that statement freeze-drying his brain. Sam's expression once again took on the prison-torture-expert-look, but this time it wasn't teasing.

"Give me that," she cried, lunging over the table, but Tucker was too fast for her. He took off running towards the cafeteria doors, howling with laughter. Sam gave chase, her eyes promising murder if she caught him.

"Too slow, Sammy!" Tucker yelled, disappearing into the hallway only seconds before Hurricane Sam reached the double doors, screaming "Get back here, Foley!"

The bell rang, and Danny hurried to catch up with his friends, his blood still hissing with the panic and pleasure that had colored his entire morning.

* * *

The boys' locker room was the first place the boys had gone without Sam, so Danny didn't bring up the video again until they were safely inside. "So, Tuck, what do I have to do to get you to give me that tape you made this morning?" he asked nonchalantly, double-knotting the laces on his Converse All-Stars. 

"Do you know any supermodels?" Tucker teased, trying to fix his hat hair in the mirror.

Danny frowned. "Sam will be mortified if you show that in class." No need to mention that he would be equally mortified.

Tucker grinned cheekily, turning away from the mirror. "I was just yanking her chain, man. There is no tape. I didn't even have my camera on when she did that."

Danny allowed his surprise to show on his face. "Tucker! Don't tease her like that. She was so embarrassed."

"If I remember correctly, she's the one who jumped on _you_. I didn't make her do that." Tucker waited a beat before adding, "And you sure didn't seem to mind. You were grinning like a fool."

"She was _tickling_ me," Danny said flatly. "Of course I was grinning like a fool."

"She wasn't tickling you in English class or biology, and you smiled through all that, too," Tucker pointed out.

Danny blushed, unable to help it. "Tucker, _what_ is your point?"

Tucker was grinning fit to split his face in half. "You decided to film Sam."

"Yes..."

"For your project."

"Yes."

"The project that she thinks is a film about her daily routine, but isn't."

"...Yes." Danny sighed. "And you _can't_ tell Sam what the project's really about."

Tucker grew serious for a moment. "I won't tell her, Danny. But _you_ should."

"I know I should, and I will. Eventually. But until the time is right, you have to _promise_ me you'll keep your mouth shut, Tuck."

Tucker gave his friend an oh-please look. "Danny, I've been keeping this secret for years. Two more weeks isn't going to kill me."

"Thanks, Tucker. I—wait, what do you mean you've been keeping this secret for years?"

The grin was back. "Ah, nothing, Danny. I think it's great that you've decided to, you know, have Sam help you with your homework. I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to...have Sam help you with your homework."

The code, strange as it was, wasn't lost on Danny. Feeling suddenly foolish, he smiled ruefully. "How long have you known?"

"That you were in love with Sam? Since you and Sam won the three-legged race at Jazz's seventh birthday party." Tucker laughed. "Remember when Sam broke the piñata?"

"Tucker, I'm serious."

"So am I! It was brutal what she did to that piñata!" Seeing that Danny wasn't in the mood to be teased, he added, "Danny, it's been obvious for years to everyone but the two of you."

Danny shook his head. "No, it hasn't."

Tucker began ticking off on his fingers. "The Ember thing?"

Danny narrowed his eyes. "That was a _spell_."

Tucker rolled his eyes and laughed. "Yeah, sure. What about the Miss Teenage Happy Princess Pageant?"

"She _deserved_ that crown," Danny said, a little heatedly.

"And you got to go out with the princess, while Miss Congeniality scratched me up like a cat on crack!" Tucker winced, remembering. "And do I even have to bring up a little something called a 'fake-out m'—"

"All _right_, already," Danny hollered, cutting the techno-geek off. "Jeez. You're embarrassing me."

"Good, maybe it'll inspire you to actually _do_ something about it," Tucker retorted. "Danny, you guys have so much romantic tension that half the school could write fanfiction about it."

Danny shuddered. "Fanfiction? Don't even joke about that. Some of those writers are crazy."

Tucker punched his friend gently in the shoulder. "I'm serious, Danny. I think it's great you're waking up about Sam. If you like her, then you should go for it."

Danny didn't look like he thought it was so great. "That's only half of it, Tuck. She's always so quick to tell everyone we're not 'lovebirds'." He rolled his eyes and used his fingers for quotation marks.

The grin on Tucker's face reached piano status. "Oh, methinks the lady doth protest too much. I mean, the girl wore _pink_ for you, man."

"That was because she made that wish that we'd never met. She was trying to get my attention," Danny protested.

"Oh, she got your attention all right. You couldn't stop talking about her. And even after we remembered everything, you guys were all blushy in that movie theater. Remember?"

Danny did remember; his eyes went soft for a second. "Yeah. That was...that was just a scary weekend." Turning to Tucker, he lowered his voice. "I'm scared _now_. If I tell her all this and she's not okay with it, it'll be too awkward for things to stay the way they are. I can't be just her friend. And then it'll be like that weekend all over again, but...forever."

Tucker shrugged. "You'll just have to make sure you steal her heart then."

Danny thought this over, a small smile curving his lips. Tucker made it sound so simple, so possible. "Thanks, Tuck."

"Thank me when you and Sam are crowned prom king and queen. Now what can I do to help?"

Danny laughed. "You can keep this a secret until I'm ready to show Sam my video essay. And try to get her not to talk to me while I'm filming, okay?"

"Done and done." The slap of a secret handshake, and the deal was made, just like that.

Danny checked the laces on his sneakers. "We'd better get to the gym. Tetschlav's probably wondering where the hell we are."

"I'll meet you," Tucker said. "I've got my own video essay to work on. I'll be out in five."

Danny watched Tucker head towards the other side of the locker room. "I don't even want to know," he muttered, walking out into the gym.

As it turned out, Danny found out what Tucker was up to in less than fifteen minutes. In fact, the entire class did.

Gym class had never been Danny's favorite place. Having super powers didn't mean a damn thing if you couldn't use them to jump a horse or climb a rope to the ceiling, and he was constantly being picked on for being something of a wimp, not only by the students, but by the teacher as well.

Speaking of the teacher, Mrs. Tetschlav waved him over as soon as she saw him. "Fenton! Get over here."

"Hey, Danny," Valerie said, smiling at him from beneath the rings.

Veins were already starting to stand out on Tetschlav's neck, and class hadn't even officially started yet. "Now, Mr. Fenton, I know we had to keep the crash cart out during your Presidential Fitness exam for fear of a cardiac episode, but do you think you can at least spot Gray here until I figure out why the rest of the class is _taking so long in the locker room_?" The last part of the sentence was directed towards the room in question, at about ten additional decibels.

Danny frowned. "I _passed_ that exam."

Valerie tapped his shoulder. "Don't worry about it, Danny. Can you help me up?"

As Danny gave Valerie a boost to the rings, he noticed Sam at the foot of one of the nearby climbing ropes. Dash Baxter sneered and shoved the rope at Sam, who caught it awkwardly, then flipped him the finger before starting her climb.

"Where's Tucker?" Valerie asked from above him.

"Dunno," Danny said, eyes drifting to the locker room doors, then back to Sam again. Dash wasn't even paying attention to the goth; he was leaning against the wall, apparently deep in conversation with a petite redhead who was giggling at whatever he was saying. "He said he'd be out in a minute."

Valerie turned a graceful flip on the rings. "Figured out what you're doing for your video essay yet?"

"We're not supposed to talk about it," Danny said absently. Sam was more than halfway up the rope already. No wonder Tetschlav had chosen her to whip Tucker into shape for the Presidential Fitness exam. Although, it had been easy to trick Tucker into training with the promise of a new PDA. Danny wondered how things would have been different if Sam had been chosen as _his_ partner—how would she have motivated him?

"You can tell _me_, Danny, I'm in the class," Valerie said. The rings clanked as she moved.

"Mm-hmm." Danny allowed himself a smile as he imagined Sam at the end of the outdoor track with a stopwatch, waiting for him. He wouldn't have needed any other motivation.

Then he shook himself out of it. He was supposed to be working on being cool enough for Sam, not getting even lamer by forming elaborate cartoon-style fantasies about her.

"Are you even _listening _to me, Fenton?" Valerie asked. "I asked you to help me down twice already."

"What?" He tilted his head up. "Oh...hold on, Val, sorry."

It was hard to keep one eye on the other side of the gym as he reached to help Valerie down, but one eye was enough to see Sam lose her grip on the rope as she slid back down again.

He heard Valerie's cry of "Hey!" as he turned on his heel abruptly and sprinted over towards the ropes. He wasn't sure what to do; he just knew that he had to do something. In the movies, the hero always just stretched out his arms and the girl fell safely into them.

Okay, so this wasn't exactly like that, although he tried. Being Danny Fenton, who was still a bit of a wimp despite his secret identity, he hadn't properly braced himself for the impact of another human being. Catching her was no problem, but the sudden extra weight threw him off-balance, sending him to the floor on one knee and an elbow. He gritted his teeth around the pain; he'd broken her fall (and maybe his arm) and that was what was important.

"Danny!" Sam cried, trying to untangle herself from him. "Are you okay?"

_Oh, man,_ he thought miserably. _This is so not cool..._

Pulling himself to a sitting position, he checked himself for injuries. The skin on his knee was almost completely burned off, and his elbow joint wasn't too happy with him, but nothing seemed broken. He was briefly annoyed at himself for losing his balance—when he was a ghost, he could defy gravity and lift cars. When he was human, he was a klutz.

But he was distracted from his self-deprecating thoughts by the sound of someone sucking air through their teeth. Sam was looking at his knee. "Oooh," she said. "Ouch. Are you okay?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said. "No big deal." Actually, it stung like crazy, but falling down was uncool enough. Whining about it would have been worse.

"Why the heck did you do _that_?" Sam asked.

Why? Didn't she know why? "You were going to fall..."

"I was fine, Danny! Did you think I would have shattered when I hit the ground?" She arched an eyebrow. "And how did you know I was going to fall?"

Danny wasn't sure if he should tell her he'd been watching her the whole time. He was saved from having to answer by Mrs. Tetschlav, who'd seen the whole thing.

"Very good, Mr. Fenton," she said to him, and by extension, the rest of the students. "That was an excellent demonstration of what a spotter is supposed to do. Except that, if I remember correctly, you were _supposed_ to be spotting Ms. Gray, not Ms. Manson."

Only then did Danny remember Valerie; he swung guilty eyes to the rings, where she was still hanging with a resigned look on her face. "Can I _please_ get some help here? My arms are getting tired."

Danny winced. "Sorry, Val."

"Are you okay, Manson?" Tetschlav asked. Sam nodded. "What about you, Fenton?"

"I'm okay," Danny said, wincing as he tried to bend his arm.

"You shouldn't be using any of the equipment without a spotter, Manson," Tetschlav was saying. "You know better than that."

A thought struck Danny. "She _had_ a spotter," he interrupted. "He just wasn't paying attention..._Dash_," he added, with a frown towards the owner of that name.

"You may have a point, Mr. Fenton, but you weren't paying attention to Ms. Gray either," Tetschlav pointed out unhelpfully.

Danny couldn't argue that point, so he decided to stick with the more important matter. "I _was_ paying attention to Val, until I noticed Dash wasn't watching _Sam_."

Dash, who'd come over to see the spectacle, only sneered. "Why does she need me, Fentonio? She's got _you_. And I'd never lay a hand on your _girlfriend_."

"I'm not his girlfriend!" Sam interjected.

Danny tried not to feel disappointed. He told himself it was a reflex action on her part. "You were supposed to be looking out for Sam. She could have gotten _hurt_, Dash. And if she had..."

"You'd what?" Dash jeered. "Teach me a lesson?"

Danny felt his ears burning. His fists were itching to teach Dash a lesson all right, blacken his eyes for not keeping a closer watch on his precious Sam. He was aware that if he threw the first punch, he'd not only get detention but also get his ass kicked by Dash before anyone could intervene, but something in the back of his brain was insisting that it was worth it, that this thing should not go unpunished.

"Danny! Are you crazy?" Sam said, seizing his hands just as he was about to cock his fists. "Calm down!" Thrusting her face close to his, she hissed in his ear, "Remember, you can't use your powers here. He'll maul you!"

Danny gritted his teeth. If she was trying to get him to think fighting Dash was a bad idea, she'd failed. Now he wanted to do it even more, not only to teach Dash a lesson but to prove to her that he wasn't a wimp. "Get out of the way, Sam," he said softly.

Her violet eyes were dark and troubled. "Danny..."

"Oh, look how cute!" Dash teased. "Loser love. Hey, Manson, you'd better kiss Fenton goodbye before I kill him!"

"That's _it_," Danny said, moving Sam gently aside and glaring at Dash. "You—"

Luckily for everyone involved, the impending fight was stalled by a scream from the direction of the girls' locker room.

All heads turned towards the source of the commotion; pounding footsteps grew steadily louder until Tucker exploded from the double doors, a panicked look on his face. He bolted towards half-court, his state-of-the-art video camera strapped to his hand.

"Outta my way, outta my _way_!" he bellowed, pushing past Danny and Sam.

More shrieking followed, and then Star appeared at the double doors, struggling into her gym shirt. "You're _dead_, Foley!" she howled, mussing her blonde hair as she poked her head through the collar. A group of girls in various stages of undress surged after her.

"He went that way!" Paulina directed, hopping comically on one foot as she jammed her foot into her other sneaker.

"What's going on here?" Mrs. Tetschlav tried to block the stampede, but the girls flooded around her like a deluge of rage.

Dash guffawed, clapping Danny hard on the shoulder as he walked past. "Good news, Fentonmeister. Your beatdown's been postponed due to Foley taking priority!" He jogged to catch up with the herd of angry girls (and Kwan, who was always game for some bullying). "Hey, don't start without me!"

Sam's violet eyes were wide. "He's _doomed_," she said in a hushed tone.

"He's lunch meat," Danny agreed, wincing. "I should have known he'd try something like this."

Sam's smile was ghastly. "Well, he can't complain too much—all the girls are finally chasing after _him_ for once!"

Despite himself, Danny laughed. She had that effect on him.

* * *

Valerie Gray's pottery bracelets clacked as she reached for a copy of _Poems and Songs From Around the World_ on the library shelf. She dropped the book immediately as soon as she noticed the camera lens sticking out from between two nearby books. 

"Ack!"

"Could you move, please, Val?" Danny said from the other side of the bookcase. "You're blocking my shot."

Valerie turned to follow the camera angle to Sam, who was chewing a pencil and staring intently at her physics book. "Danny, what was the answer to question four again?" she asked, turning towards the bookcase, which sighed exasperatedly.

"Sam, we have been over this. You are supposed to act like I'm not _here_. We're never going to finish this if—_ow_!"

Valerie's intrusion had put some of the books off-balance, causing them to eventually topple off the shelf and onto anyone who might have been hiding there with a camera.

"Danny? Are you okay?" Sam rose from her chair, and both girls walked around the shelf to find Danny kneeling on the floor to retrieve his camera, one hand rubbing at his head.

"Cut," he said angrily.

"Sorry, I know, I ruined the shot," Sam said.

"No, I mean, I'm _cut_—one of those books had really sharp corners." Danny took his hand away from his head, revealing a shallow gash across his forehead. "Man, how many times am I going to get hurt today?"

Valerie smothered a giggle behind her hand. "Danny's filming you for his project, Sam? Wow," she said. Danny gave her the sharp warning look he usually reserved for Tucker.

"Yeah, I don't know why, though, I'm totally not interesting," Sam chuckled, helping Danny to his feet. Then she knelt to pick up the books that had fallen. While she was thus distracted, Valerie pointed at the camera with one hand and Sam with the other, giving Danny a "what's going on with this?" look. Danny glared at her, putting a finger to his lips, the message obvious—"_Shhhhh_!"

Valerie ended the pantomime with her hands raised to show she wasn't touching this one with a bargepole, and Sam got to her feet.

"Here, Danny, let me help," she said, reaching for him, but he shied away from her.

"No, thanks," he said, more harshly than he'd intended to. "I can take care of myself." Turning on his heel, he stalked out of the library.

Valerie sighed. "Way to go," she said conversationally to Sam.

"What did _I_ do?" The goth had an almost comically puzzled look on her face. "I swear, I don't know what's gotten into him lately." She absently shoved the books at the other girl and walked out into the hallway.

Watching them go, Valerie shook her head and sifted through the books in her hand for her forgotten copy of _Poems and Songs From Around the World_. "Clueless," she muttered.

* * *

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," Danny was muttering as he turned on the water fountain. 

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. The filming was a complete disaster so far, but his interactions with Sam had been even worse. Girls made no sense—one minute she was pouncing on him and the next minute she didn't seem to even want him to touch her. She could have gotten hurt, and she was calling _him_ crazy for trying to help, for wanting to defend her to Dash. Other girls would have eaten that up (he remembered a disastrous incident involving a possessed Paulina, a jilted Johnny 13, and one very angry Kitty), but not Sam. No, she thought he couldn't even take care of himself, let alone her.

"She drives me _crazy_ sometimes," he snarled helplessly, twisting the tap for the water.

"I know," a voice sighed behind him. Startled, he whirled to see Sam, looking rather penitent. She held a damp napkin out to him like a peace offering.

It was hard to stay angry at her when she was right in front of him. He took the napkin and pressed it to his cut carefully. "Thanks."

She nodded, then turned her attention to her feet for a minute. He felt bad that she'd overheard him, and started to say "I'm sorry," but she said, "Listen—" at the same time. Then she laughed. "You go first."

"No, you," he said, his annoyance evaporating in front of that smile like mist before the sun.

"I just wanted to say I'm sorry," she said. "For driving you crazy. I know I've been messing up your project."

"You're not messing it up, Sam," he promised. "I asked you to be yourself, and that's what you're doing. Just try harder not to notice me, okay?" He laughed. "I didn't mean to say you drive me crazy. Come on, want to try another shot?" he asked, turning back towards the library.

"Wait," she said haltingly, taking his arm before he could walk down the hallway. "There's something else. I forgot to thank you, you know, for catching me when I fell. You know, in gym," she said, as if he wouldn't remember. She was rushing her words; a blush tinted her cheek. "I just didn't want you to get beaten up because of me. Why on earth were you going to fight Dash?"

Even the mention of the other boy's name caused Danny's blood to simmer with rage. "He was supposed to be spotting you. You could have gotten hurt."

"But I _didn't_," she pointed out. "Thanks to you."

"But if I hadn't been there..." Even as he said it, Danny dismissed the thought. "Well, it doesn't matter. I'm always going to be there."

He hadn't realized he'd said it aloud until Sam smiled. "You're really something, you know that?" And then she did something strange—raising on her toes, she smoothed his bangs back and dropped a kiss on his brow, gently, just over the cut.

He felt himself flush. "That was sweet."

"Sorry." She looked embarrassed. "I don't know why I did that." She started to back away, but he took her hands to stop her.

"Sam—"

"Everything all right out here?"

Danny dropped Sam's hands and they turned to see Mr. Lancer glaring sternly at them. Danny frowned. Worst timing ever.

"Fine, Mr. Lancer. I cut myself and Sam's just helping me clean it." He pointed to his forehead.

Lancer frowned. "_Finnegan's Wake_, Mr. Fenton. Only you could manage to get hurt in a library."

"I'm fine, thanks," Danny said dryly. "The bleeding's mostly stopped by now."

Lancer ignored that and looked at his watch. "The bell's about to ring. You two lovebirds get to class."

"We're not lovebirds," Sam stated automatically, then gave Danny a funny look. "Hey, you didn't say it with me."

Danny jerked back to reality. "I mean—yeah—what she said."

Sam retrieved the napkin and handed it to Danny. Even though the bleeding had stopped, he pressed it to his head once again as the bell rang.

Lancer followed, putting enough distance between them and himself that they wouldn't hear him mutter, "Clueless."

* * *

Tucker's punishment for attempting to break into the girls' locker room—a week's detention—was surprisingly mild in Danny's opinion. He was shocked that the techno-geek hadn't gotten suspended. He was sure Sam would be, too. He knocked on the doorframe of the home-ec room at the final bell. "Sam?" 

The goth looked up at the sound of her name, eyes sore and sad. "Oh…hey, Danny." She was hunched over her workstation, black velvet spilling around her like nightfall.

"Hey," he said gently, surprised at her tired expression. "Ready to go home?"

It was Mrs. Tetschlav who answered, with a wicked cackle from behind a copy of _Hardcore Muscle _magazine. "Oh, she's not going anywhere for a while. She's got to restitch that whole thing."

"This _sucks_," Sam groaned, resting her head on her desk. "Go on without me, Danny. I'll see you tomorrow."

"I'll just wait for you," Danny said, but she interrupted.

"_No_—I mean, no, thank you," Sam said, her attention focused mostly on the fabric in front of her. "Just go on, Danny. I'm not a damsel in distress. I can walk home on my own."

Danny sighed. "…Okay, I guess. See you tomorrow."

Tetschlav winked at Danny as he turned to leave. "Don't worry, Fenton, we'll crush that independent spirit. She'll be a damsel in distress by the end of the semester," she called as he walked into the hallway.

"I _will_ _not_!" was Sam's answer.

So Danny had to walk home alone, puzzled once again by Sam's mercurial change of mood. She hadn't seemed to mind him walking her home the day before. Why was she confusing him like this?

It bothered him all the way home, which led him to break his normal rules and ask advice of someone he'd never thought would know _anything_ about girls.

"Dad?" He poked his head into the kitchen, where his father was at the table, completely engrossed in Canadian bacon. "Can I talk to you?"

It was a great opener. Jack Fenton always welcomed a chance for father-son bonding. Granted, his ideas of bonding usually involved embarrassing heart-to-heart chats or outings on which one of them got hurt—the day he'd taught Danny how to fish, he'd managed to snag his own ear with the hook. Later, Maddie had taught Danny first aid, and Jack's silver-lining conclusion was that Danny had learned two useful things in one day.

So if anyone would know how to smile and be brave in the face of probable defeat, it was his father.

Sure enough, Jack beamed, turning in his chair. "Sure thing, Danny. What's up?"

Danny knew he had to tread carefully. If he mentioned Sam, his father would start winking at him and wanting to talk about things that were far too embarrassing to talk about with a parent. Danny had learned from Jazz that a well-placed analogy sometimes worked even better than the truth. "Dad, remember when you broke the Ecto-Tuner?"

Jack frowned. "Is your mother still complaining about the broken clock radio? Because right after dinner—"

Danny put his hands up in a "whoa" gesture before the explanation started. "No, Dad, it's fine. I just wanted to ask you...well, I mean, the Ecto-Tuner was a prototype, right?"

"Right. It was supposed to pick up ghost communications over the airwaves by filtering out the normal radio signals. My first experiment was to try to use it on a small clock radio, but there were...complications." Jack frowned.

With his father, "complications" almost always meant "explosions". The clock radio now looked as though it had been through a nuclear holocaust.

"But it was just a prototype," Danny said. "There was a really good chance it might not work."

Jack thought this over. "Well, sure, Danny. Even if your calculations are perfect, there's always a chance that something might not work."

"But you tried it anyway," Danny concluded. "Even though you weren't sure."

Jack grinned. "Of course! Trying is the first step towards anything, Danny."

"Including _failure_," Danny said darkly.

Jack waved a hand dismissively. "Failure is in the eye of the beholder, Danny."

Danny arched a brow; the similarity between that and the video essay project was a little creepy.

Jack continued, "I know it sounds like some tired old explanation a father might give his son, but you never know what will happen unless you give it a shot, Danny. Sure, things might blow up in your face, but you never know when something will work just right and open the door to all kinds of possibilities."

Danny smiled. His father wasn't bad with analogies either, even when he didn't know he was using them. Although with Jack, the phrase "blow up in your face" was probably meant to be literal.

And then, Jack Fenton had one of his rare moments where he found the perfect thing to say. "You know what, Danny? Maybe the Ecto-Tuner isn't the best example. I've got a better one for you."

Genuinely interested, Danny pulled out a chair from the table and got comfortable. "This I have to hear."

"It was back when I was in college. My old chum Vlad, your mother and I were working on a prototype for the Ghost Portal," Jack began. "We were up nights experimenting with power sources, drawing blueprints, calculating numbers...it was strenuous work, with precious few tangible results."

"But Dad, you tried the prototype and it didn't work, remember? Vlad? The ecto-acne?..." Danny wasn't sure how this was a better example of the merits of trying.

Jack reacted to the mention of Vlad Masters the same way he always did—completely oblivious to the sheer, heinous consequences of that event. "Oh, Danny, I'm not talking about the ghost portal. I'm talking about your mother!"

Now Danny was thoroughly confused. "I think I'm missing the point here."

"Hang in there, son. I'm getting to it." Jack grinned. "See, all those long nights working on that ghost portal with Maddie brought us very close together. It wasn't long before I knew she was the woman I wanted to invent _all_ my ghost hunting equipment with. But it was much longer before I got up the courage to tell her so. You see, Danny, your old man isn't always as confident as he looks."

Danny bit down on a laugh. Luckily, his father was still talking and didn't notice.

"I'm sure people looked at us and thought, 'what could a girl like her possibly see in a guy like him?' I'm sure people _still_ look at us and think that."

Danny could think of at least one person who did.

"Sometimes, even _I_ think it!" Jack laughed. "But I finally decided that I was crazy about your mother, and letting her know it was worth any risk of rejection. So I asked her to marry me, and she said yes." The elder Fenton was positively beaming now at the memory. "So you see, Danny, if I hadn't thrown caution to the winds and popped the question, I wouldn't be living this wonderful life, with my wonderful family. I've never regretted that decision for an instant." He laughed and elbowed his son gently. "Gently" for Jack meant that Danny only wheezed and clutched at his ribs instead of being knocked completely off his chair. "Now, I know you probably didn't come down here to talk about girls and love, but I hope you get what I'm trying to tell you."

Danny smiled at his father. "Actually, Dad, you've been a bigger help than you know. Thanks."

Jack ruffled Danny's hair. "Glad to hear it, son."

Danny couldn't help but shake his head affectionately as he walked out of the kitchen. Only his father could have no idea what Danny really wanted to talk about and still manage to hit the nail right on the head.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

I'm a huge fan of **Duran Duran**, but my love does not grant me ownership of the lyrics used at the beginning of this chapter. Unfortunately. (sigh.)

**1993** is indeed the last year they made the Mustang with the boxy body. I never had a Mustang, but I'd love to own one (no offense to my own beloved hoopty, a white Maxima named Spoiler) and I was once acquainted with a 1993 Mustang that took us a lot of fun places before it died a sad and tragic death in a spontaneous highway fire. Luckily no humans were injured, but I _mourn_ that car.

**Hoopty** (hoo p 'ty) _n_. Basically, a car that is in very bad condition. Earmarks of a hoopty are things like taped-up headlights, peeling paint (usually of a grotesque color such as gangrene green, or a highly noticeable color such as Vellox Midnight Purple), a loose bumper, or a very loud muffler (if it has a muffler at all). Crappy plastic decorations on the dashboard are optional and usually fall off as soon as aforementioned hoopty goes over a speed bump.  
1._ Damn, is Firestar9mm still driving that **hoopty**?  
_2. _Sam's Mustang is not a **hoopty**._

"**Nobody puts Baby in the corner"**: This is obviously a reference to one of the great American movies of our time, _Dirty Dancing_. It is **_not_** just a Fall Out Boy song. XD

Speaking of great American movies, **John Hughes **wrote, produced and/or directed a ton of them. Some of them are: _Sixteen Candles, Ferris Bueller's Day Off, Pretty in Pink, Some Kind of Wonderful, Weird Science,_ and _Planes, Trains & Automobiles._

Tucker makes references to a few episodes in this chapter, such as "**Fanning the Flames"**, "**Beauty Marked"**, and "**Memory Blank"**. Likewise, the **Presidential Fitness Exam **was featured in "**Micro-Management"**.

**_Poems and Songs From Around the World_** is a book within a book—it's a reference to Chuck Palahniuk's _Lullaby_. In _Lullaby_, the book _Poems and Songs From Around the World _contains a culling song on page 27 that, when read, immediately kills anyone who hears it. XD It's a very interesting take on language and noise as a danger to society.

(sighs and rubs eyes.) I hope I didn't leave anything out. I'm exhausted tonight! Thanks for reading!

**Next chapter:** Danny can't figure out how to film Sam without her seeing him. Tucker can't figure out what to do for his video essay. And Sam can't figure out how to boil water without burning it.


	3. Pretty In Pink

**Author's Introduction:**

I wish I could have Jhonen Vasquez's **Fillerbunny** open my chapters. He's far more amusing than I am. "Hi, boys and girls! It's me! Fillerbunny! And after a brief rest in the preservation fluid, which burns, they brought me back to introduce this book! Yay! _Yay_! (cough) Surely you are entertained!" (dances)

But I don't own Fillerbunny. Or Danny Phantom, either. (sigh)

* * *

_**Eye of the Beholder**_

_A Danny Phantom fanfiction

* * *

_

**Chapter Three: Pretty in Pink

* * *

**

_Caroline laughs and it's raining all day, she loves to be one of the girls  
__Lives in the place on the side of our lives where nothing is ever put straight  
__Turns herself round and she smiles and she says "This is it, that's the end of the joke"  
__Loses herself in her dreaming and sleep and her lovers walk through in their coats  
__Pretty in pink  
__Isn't she…?  
__Pretty in pink  
__Isn't she?..._

**(_Pretty In Pink_, the Psychedelic Furs)

* * *

**

Lancer flicked the lights back on, and the class groaned, the sudden glare forcing them out of their afternoon comas.

"I know, I'm upset it's over, too," the teacher quipped dryly. "Now, what did that video teach you about human behavior?"

Valerie Gray sighed heavily. "Mr. Lancer, we've been watching reruns of _Miami Vice_ for three days. When are we going to learn something about actual film technique?"

Lancer's mouth snapped into a thin line. "Had you been paying attention with an open mind, Ms. Gray, you would have learned several things already. Michael Mann was a pioneer in the 80s for his creative technique, as well as the integration of music into his teleplays."

"I'm with Valerie," Tucker said. "I don't want to watch two guys in pastel suit jackets get way more dates than I do."

The class chuckled, and Lancer rolled his eyes.

"Don't worry, Tuck," Danny sighed. "Crockett and Tubbs aren't really happy. I mean, look at their track record."

Tucker's eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hat. "I _am_ looking at their track record. They investigate their way into a new girl's life every episode!"

"Do they, Mr. Foley?" Lancer interrupted, seemingly interested in where this conversation was heading. "Mr. Fenton? Care to share your theory on Crockett and Tubbs' unhappiness?" In a slightly lower voice, he added, "And maybe prove that _somebody _learned something from this?"

Danny hadn't expected to be asked to expound on his theory. In truth, if he hadn't been so worked up over his own troubles, he never would have come up with it in the first place. "Um...I guess," he said.

Turning to Tucker, he said, "You're right. Crockett and Tubbs get a new girlfriend every episode. That means they never stay with one girl. They're always looking for true love, but they never find it. And it's always the same deal for them." He ticked his points off on his fingers. "If they find a girl they like, she's an enemy spy, a prostitute, or a drug addict. If she is not an enemy spy, prostitute, or addict, she's dead by the end of the episode. And they're alone again."

"You are _hurting_ me with your geekiness, Fenton," Dash groaned.

"Shut up, Dash," Valerie said. "Maybe Danny has a point."

"Danny definitely has a point," Lancer interjected. "But such is the nature of drama. If everything turned out all right for everyone in the end, why would we be interested at all?"

There were murmurs of agreement around the room, and Danny felt his blood begin to simmer with misplaced aggression. "But that _sucks_," he burst out before he realized what he was doing.

All eyes swung back to him.

"Mr. Fenton? Are you all right?" Lancer asked, cocking a brow.

"No," Danny said vehemently. "I'm not all right. That's not _fair_. Why can't we just be happy in the end? Why do we have to suffer just so everyone _else_ can have their _drama_?"

"Danny! Danny, man, calm down," Tucker said, but the words bubbled with I-can't-believe-he's-freaking-out-like-this laughter.

Lancer looked like he wanted to laugh, too, but he didn't. "Because _Moonlighting_ was handled very, very poorly, Daniel," he sighed. "And as much as it hurts, we're going to have to pay for that for a good long while."

Danny sighed, pillowing his head on his arms. "I don't want to watch _Miami Vice_ anymore."

"Yeah!" the rest of the class agreed.

Lancer tried to frown, but it kept bending into a smirk. "Everybody's a critic. Okay, who wants to learn about lighting techniques and camera angles?"

The class let out a brief cheer—all except for Danny, who remained very quiet for the rest of the period. Tucker kept slanting nervous sideways glances at him, and every so often Valerie would dart her eyes toward him as well.

None of this went unnoticed by Mr. Lancer. "Oh, Mr. Fenton," he called as the class was trudging out the door after the final bell. When Danny turned, he said, "Don't worry. Sometimes, despite the maelstrom that rages around him, the hero does get the girl."

Danny seemed to like that; he treated his teacher to a wry smile before continuing with his exit.

* * *

While the video essay class had been agonizing over the cruelty of drama, Sam was in home economics, having some of her own.

"_Ow_!" Sam's voice cracked, a squeal finding its way through her normal smooth tone. She jumped back from the stove, doubling over in pain.

Mrs. Tetschlav looked mournfully down at the shattered glass dish that had previously contained a cherry pie (now also shattered). Sighing, she addressed the rest of the class. "Pay attention, girls. Manson has just demonstrated the importance of aprons to us. Especially when wearing a miniskirt."

The home economics class had been baking pies. Sam had remembered her oven mitts but foregone an apron. Upon removing the glass baking dish from the stove, she had underestimated its weight and tried to balance it on her leg, which wasn't covered by the material of her skirt. She now had a rather unattractive burn mark across one thigh; the unexpected pain had shocked her into dropping the dish, pie and all.

"Ow, ow, ow," Sam yelped, fanning at her leg with her oven mitt. "I am getting a transfer out of here, so help me God!"

"The hell you are, Manson," Tetschlav said, rushing to put an ice pack in Sam's hands. "I'll whip you into shape if I have to use the Kitchenaid."

Sam held the ice pack to her leg and looked in horror at the Kitchenaid, which had about eighteen attachments and looked like it could puree a student in about ten seconds flat.

"On the bright side, Manson, I don't think this pie would be up to competition standard," Tetschlav sighed, looking down at the remains of the pie. "So it's no big deal that you dropped it." She squinted down at the burn on Sam's leg. "Keep that ice pack on for a few more minutes, then we'll put it in the freezer for twenty before reapplying. That burn won't like anything touching it, so be careful while you're on the floor cleaning this mess up."

Sam sank miserably to her knees to start cleaning up. She was beginning to feel like _she_ wasn't up to competition standard.

"There's nothing wrong with _my_ pie," Paulina trilled, brandishing a tin. "Who wants a piece?"

Feeling like Cinderella, Sam carefully collected pieces of broken glass while the rest of the class sliced into the blueberry pie Paulina had made. She could hear murmurs of appreciation and Mrs. Tetschlav's final verdict.

"Perfect. Class, pay attention to Paulina," the teacher said, waving her fork. "She's got it perfect."

Sam gritted her teeth and got to her feet, only to have a slice of blueberry pie shoved under her nose.

"Want a piece, Sam?" Paulina purred. "You heard our teacher. It's perrrrrfect..."

Home economics class was definitely not Sam's thing, but the goth was very proud. She hated to be outdone in anything, especially by someone like Paulina. The other girl held the paper plate out to her, smiling sweetly…well, it was supposed to be sweet. Instead, it looked like the permanent smile a shark's jaws were fixed in. Sam reached for the plate in defeat.

"Careful," Paulina giggled. "Don't _burn_ yourself."

Later, Sam would decide that shoving the slice of pie into the popular girl's face probably wasn't an appropriate response. But that would be far, far later in the week, when she was dressed like a sofa and even more miserable than she was right now.

The element of surprise worked in her favor; she even had time to grind a bit of the pie into Paulina's hair before the other girl reacted. Then there were gasps, and perfectly manicured nails were raking down Sam's cheek. Like any good lieutenant, Star jumped into the fray. When asked later, Sam would not be able to remember which of them knocked her down.

"Girls!" Tetschlav bellowed, reaching into the scratching, hair-pulling dust cloud. She emerged with a struggling girl in each hand, as if she were breaking up a fight between two kittens.

"She started it!" Paulina howled, pointing her right forefinger at Sam like a pistol. There was blueberry filling matted in her hair. "You saw what she did!"

For her part, Sam merely growled. Tetschlav gave each girl a shake. "Paulina, if you could refrain from teasing Ms. Manson, perhaps these things wouldn't happen, hm?"

Sam snickered, but her face fell when the teacher's angry gaze swung to her. "You think it's funny? You're a troublemaker, Manson. You always have been."

"If you call thinking for myself being a troublemaker," Sam muttered.

"I call starting fistfights with other students being a troublemaker," Tetschlav clarified. "The two of you will stay after class to receive punishment. Now clean up this mess," she ordered, in the tone that meant, _"Do what I say or I'll Kitchenaid your face."_

Glaring at each other, Paulina and Sam knelt down and began cleaning up scattered bits of blueberry pie.

"Bully," Sam hissed to Paulina.

"_Bitchola_," Paulina shot back.

Meanwhile, Star breathed a sigh of relief from her corner of the room. Some days, it was a good thing that Paulina got all the attention.

* * *

"Are you all right, Danny?" Lancer asked after the bell had rung. He'd left the classroom to find Danny Fenton still sitting in the hallway, possibly waiting for his friends. Tucker Foley was still serving his detention for the girls' locker room, if memory served, and the scuttlebutt around the teacher's lounge was that Sam Manson was having quite a bit of trouble in Mrs. Tetschlav's home economics class. "You were very vocal in class today. Something you want to talk about?"

Danny nodded, then shook his head no, then realized how confusing that might look. "I mean, yes, I'm okay, no, there's nothing to talk about."

Lancer wasn't fooled, but he didn't push any harder as the boy rose to his feet. "How's your video essay project coming?"

Danny smiled, unable to help it. "I've got a great subject, but it's harder than I thought to film."

Lancer smirked. "Good things come when you challenge yourself."

"I sure hope so," Danny said. "See you tomor—"

"Mr. Lancer!" someone cried. "Mr. Lancer, don't go!"

Sam galloped towards them, skidding to a breathless stop. "Mr. Lancer, wait up. I need your help."

"Whoa, Sam," the teacher said, arching a brow. "Take it easy. What's the trouble? I'll help if I can."

Sam sucked in a breath and began her hard-luck story. "I signed up for shop class but they said there was no room so they put me in home ec, but I _suck_ at girl stuff and I'm totally going to fail if I stay there. I can't get in to shop and nothing else is left but your video class. Can't you overtally me so I can get in? I'll make up the classwork. I promise!"

Mr. Lancer could have explained to Sam that there was no way he could bend the rules in her case, that she had been put into home economics for a reason, that good things came when one challenged oneself—but he was far too amused by the sight of Danny over her shoulder. As she spoke, the boy was making a slashing motion across his throat and shaking his head fiercely, all the while mouthing, "No. _No_," silently.

Lancer's eyes twinkled. "Now, Sam. If I let you do that, I'd have to let all the students do that and there would be absolutely no need for class programs at the beginning of the semester. I'm afraid you'll just have to learn to bake and stitch."

"Nooooooo!" Sam wailed. "I _can't_! You don't understand! Our next project is sewing, and she's making me—"

"End of discussion, Ms. Manson. You will remain in home economics class. And as they say on the runway—" He treated Sam to a wicked smirk, "_make it work_."

Sam collapsed against the wall in defeat as their teacher made his escape. Danny joined her, since there was still fifteen minutes before Tucker would be let out of detention. "I take it class isn't going..." He trailed off at the sight of a white gauze patch on her upper thigh, making the skin look almost tan by comparison. "What happened to your leg?"

Sam blushed. "Burned myself in home ec."

"On your _leg_? What'd you do, drop a pie plate on yourself?" Danny frowned.

She didn't answer, but blushed even more miserably, which was answer enough. "I want to _transfer_. This isn't _fair_."

Danny slung a friendly arm around her. "Who cares if you can't bake a pie? The semester will be over soon enough, and then you're taking studio art, right? You'll be head of the class."

She smiled a little at his flattery.

"Let's go see if Tuck can skip out early," Danny said. "Want to come hang out by me for a while? We can try some more shots for my video essay?"

Sam sighed. "I wish I could, but Tetschlav says I have to bake something else to make up for the pie I ruined today. With the way I bake, it'll take me all night. I thought baking was supposed to be easy."

Danny stopped walking, suddenly struck by an idea. "You go get Tucker. I have to make a phone call, okay?"

Sam looked confused, but headed for the room detention was being served in. Meanwhile, Danny punched a button on his cell phone. "Jazz? It's Danny...good, how are you? Great, that's great...listen, where do Mom and Dad keep all the stuff we used to play with when we were little?"

* * *

Tucker snorted from his perch on the Fentons' kitchen counter, trying to hold in his laughter. "Danny, you have seriously lost it, man."

"I have not lost it," Danny said calmly. "When you're teaching someone to ride a bike, you start them on training wheels. When you're teaching someone to bake a cake, you use this."

"This" was a somewhat battered Easy-Bake Oven. Years ago, it had belonged to Jazz, and had somehow miraculously escaped becoming part of one of Jack and Maddie's experiments. Danny had found it in the attic, and upon plugging it in, was delighted to see the light bulb flicker to life.

"Um...Danny?" Sam said, tearing open a packet of powdered cake mix. "I don't think this is exactly what Tetschlav has in mind."

"She just says you have to bake something, right?" Danny said. "She didn't say how. She didn't say how big. She just said bake it. Besides, this is great practice for you. It's practically the same thing as a real oven."

Sam narrowed her eyes at the plastic oven and its low-watt light bulb. "I know when you say 'practically the same thing', you actually mean 'entirely different', right?"

"Come on, Sam," Tucker cajoled. "At least give it a shot. If you screw up, we can just eat it."

Sam frowned and emptied the packet of mix into the tiny pan. "I hate you guys."

"Well, smile while you hate us," Danny said, lifting his video camera.

Sam stopped mixing batter. "No. Oh, no. I agreed to be humiliated by a toy oven. I did _not_ agree to do it on camera."

"Need I remind you that you said you'd help me?" Danny said, centering her in the viewfinder. "Action."

"Danny, _no_. If I'm going to set your kitchen on fire, I do not want it recorded on videotape!" Sam protested.

"It's an Easy-Bake Oven, Sam. A hundred-watt light bulb is not going to set anything on fire. In fact, it's probably not even going to bake that sad little cake you're mixing over there," Tucker said, then remembered he was on camera, too. Looking at Danny, he said, "Is it okay if I'm in the shot, too, or do you want me to back out?" Then he covered his mouth. "Should we even be talking?"

"I don't know if we're doing audio," Danny said. "I can't decide if I want to do that, or have a soundtrack running in the background. Until I decide, if you guys are going to break the fourth wall, can you let me know first?"

Sam snorted, smoothing the top of her cake with a flat little plastic knife. "Directors," she said. Tucker chuckled.

"Besides, you need this tape," Danny said. "You know Mrs. Tetschlav is going to accuse you of just buying something and bringing it in."

Sam frowned at him, waving the tiny cake plate. "I agree she's always suspicious of me, but I doubt she's going to think _this_ is a proxy."

"So, when she accuses you of cheating, I'll just show her this tape, and we can prove that you baked this all by your l'il self," Danny teased.

"Oh, shut up, Fenton," Sam laughed.

"Here, Tuck, take this for a second," Danny said, handing the camera off to Tucker. "Are we centered?"

"Yeah," Tucker said, looking through the viewfinder.

"Is the oven in the shot?"

"Yeah. Say it like you're a game-show host," the techno-geek laughed.

Danny flashed a big, cheesy smile. "Hi! We're Danny Fenton and Sam Manson."

"Okay, now like you're on the home shopping network," Tucker encouraged.

Not missing a beat, Danny changed his tone. "And we're here today to prove on video that Sam can bake something without burning herself or starting a fire."

"_Stop_ the camera," Sam said, blushing. "Danny! Knock it off."

"Now like it's the number one film in America!" Tucker said, but before Danny could say another line, Sam reached for a tube of frosting. Frowning, she walked forward and squirted it over the camera lens.

"We'll be right back, after these messages," she quipped dryly.

Tucker snickered, wiping at the camera lens. "I guess it's safe to say 'cut'?" He sighed and set the camera down on the counter.

Sam stuck her tongue out at the techno-geek as he ran cold water onto a paper towel.

"You are no fun," Danny said, smiling at Sam. "Come on, Sam. You have to admit this is funny!"

Sam pouted. "Do I look like I'm laughing?"

Instead of arguing, Danny took the tube of frosting out of her hand and squirted some cherry frosting onto her nose. "Are you laughing now?"

Sam wasn't laughing; her eyes widened in shock, then narrowed to try to see her nose. "Daniel Fenton..." she said warningly.

Danny's heart was knocking excitedly against his breastbone. How far could he take this? "You look so _sweet_."

Sam's facial muscles were working in a way that made him think she was fighting back a smile—the stern look on her face twitched, like a television set going out of focus. It encouraged a smile of his own to tug at his lips as he stepped closer to her.

Tucker tried not to look like he was rushing to pick up the camera once again. Luckily, the room's other two occupants were far too distracted to notice.

Sam's scowl relaxed into a look of uncertainty as he closed the distance between them. If he didn't know better, he'd have said she was holding her breath. Not for the first time, he wondered what she'd do if he just swept her close and kissed her.

He didn't kiss her. He licked the frosting from her nose.

Her reaction was priceless—she leapt back and squeaked, clapping her hands over her nose. "Danny!"

"Oh my gosh!" Tucker howled, still looking into the camera's viewfinder. "Sam, you should see your face!"

"Ugh," Sam said, dashing for the tap and scrubbing at her nose fiercely with a paper towel. "Danny, are you going to be serious about this or not?"

The Easy-Bake Oven went _ping_.

* * *

Friday saw Sam's little Easy-Bake cake sitting proudly on the home-ec counter beside all the bigger cakes. Tucker had pouted the night before over not being able to eat it, but he'd cheered up while she was decorating it with black icing and gummy bats, since she'd let him eat the leftover gummies as well as lick the icing from the spoon. The end result--which Tetschlav had been forced to award her a "D-minus-minus" on--had actually pleased her. As she popped a gummy bat she'd palmed into her mouth, she couldn't stop her eyes from wandering over to the frosting she'd decorated the cake with.

He'd _licked_ her _nose_. What had gotten into the boy?

She felt the smile curving her lips and let it come. It wasn't just the physical contact that had pleased her--although, strange as it was, it had not been unpleasant--but the unpredictability of him, his willingness to tease her in ways that would normally have had them both blushing and stammering. All their lives, she'd been telling Danny that he was unique. Special. And maybe he thought it was because of his abilities, but really, Sam thought, it was just because she couldn't think of a single other person who'd have the idea to help her with her home-ec project by way of a toy oven, then lick frosting from her nose and smile like it was all some wonderful game.

He really could be sweet...

"Stop _laughing_," Paulina hissed around the pins in her mouth. "If you keep moving, you're gonna make me mess this up."

Sam's smile immediately fell off her face and crashed to the floor. Tilting her head down, she looked at Paulina, who was kneeling, trying feverishly to whipstitch the hem of her sewing project.

Which Sam was currently wearing.

It was around this time that Sam decided throwing blueberry pie at Paulina hadn't been worth the momentary victory. Mrs. Tetschlav had been furious with both of them, and like Mr. Lancer, she had a flair for dealing out particularly humiliating punishments. While the other students in the class were using dressmaker's dummies to model their garments, Tetschlav was making Paulina and Sam model for each other. Today and half of next week, Sam was modeling for Paulina; then Paulina would model for her.

As punishments went, it was a gem. It involved all the best tenets of torture—doing something you didn't want to do, staying still for long periods of time, and spending that time with someone you hated. The other girls wondered why it was such a big deal, but Tetschlav had known that Paulina and Sam would punish each other far worse than she ever could.

Everyone in the class kept peeking around their dummies to stare. Sam cringed, trying to tug one of the puffy sleeves up her arm. The difference in hips and height between her and Paulina was obvious by how poorly the dress fit.

"Mrs. Tetschlav," Paulina wailed, shifting her weight back on her heels in despair. "This is a nightmare! She looks like Frankenstein's bride goes to the prom! And her blush doesn't match the dress!"

It didn't, but that was probably because the candy-pink color of the taffeta didn't match anything except itself. It had more ruffles than a bag of potato chips, and the puffy sleeves made Sam feel like she'd gotten lost on the way to a Cyndi Lauper concert.

"I am a Marshmallow Peep. Smash my head please," Sam muttered.

Tetschlav was grinning wickedly at her. "How do you feel, Manson?"

"Like an enormous pudding," said Sam. "This sucks. It doesn't fit, the material itches, the color's wrong, and it isn't me at all."

"Welcome to being punished," Tetschlav said dryly. "And stop snickering, Paulina. It's your turn next week."

Paulina frowned and tugged on Sam's skirt, hard. "Let's just get this over with, Manson. If I fail this project because of you, you and your loser friends will never be able to set foot in the cafeteria again!"

"I'm shaking in these ugly shoes you're making me wear," Sam snarled. Paulina thought she was a princess, so she'd selected a pair of platform jellies that Sam guessed were supposed to look like glass slippers. They were pinching her toes and giving her a blister where the plastic strap was rubbing against her foot.

"You have to wear the shoes, or I won't get the length right," Paulina hissed. "Now _calenta_—shut up! I'm having enough trouble with your figure as it is."

_It's official_, Sam thought. _This can not get any w—_

"It's about time, Mr. Fenton," Mrs. Tetschlav said dryly from the front of the room. "Although I still think you'd have better luck filming when the girls are actually _done_ with their dresses..."

"It's not about the finished product, Mrs. Tetschlav," Danny said charmingly, walking through the door with his camera strapped to his hand. "It's about the creative process."

As soon as the other girls saw the camera, they realized what was going on and turned on the charm, cooing, "Hi Danny." By contrast, Sam gasped and drew her arms across her body, trying feebly to hide the dress. The taffeta refused to behave, springing out on all sides. Danny cocked an eyebrow, lowering his camera. "Sam, I thought you said you were working on your sewing project today."

"We're working on _my_ sewing project," Paulina gushed, also having seen the camera. "You can film _my_ creative process, Danny."

Still confused, Danny circled Sam, looking her up and down. Sam blushed miserably. She'd had little fantasies of the day her best friend finally looked at her the way a boy looks at a girl, and none of them had involved pink taffeta.

Paulina, for her part, was making the best out of a bad situation like a champ. "And isn't Sam just the cutest little model? I really think my design improves her look!"

"She looks like a sofa," Danny said. "An unhappy one."

"Are you getting any of this on film?" Paulina demanded, a bit of steel beneath the sugar now.

"He's not filming," Sam snapped. "In fact, he's _leaving_!"

"Mr. Fenton, our agreement was that you would not _disturb_ my class," Tetschlav said warningly.

"I'm not," Danny said hurriedly. "You girls just keep working."

"No," Sam said. "You are not filming me in this nightmare frock from hell!"

"He's not filming you," Paulina said. "He's filming me! Now shut up and hold still like a good dummy." She emphasized "dummy".

Defeated, Sam glanced down at Danny. "What is going on here?"

"Lancer gave us the period free to work on our video essays," Danny explained, centering her. "I asked Mrs. Tetschlav if I could come in here and film you working."

"So why are you still filming?" she asked. "You're wasting your time. I'm not working today."

"I don't know," he said, lifting his head from the viewfinder. "It looks like working to me."

Paulina tossed a pin to the floor in disgust. "You think the dress is working? Are you blind, Danny? She looks terrible."

"It looks terrible _on_ her," Danny said, looking through the viewfinder again. "That's not the same thing."

"That does it. Screw you guys. I'm going home," Sam said, kicking off one of the platform jellies. It slid past Paulina, who cried, "Hey!"

"Stay put, Manson," said Mrs. Tetschlav, coming to the rescue, as it were. "All right, that's it. Fenton, out. Manson, put that shoe back on and hold still. Maybe this'll teach you not to throw pies at people."

"Awww!" Danny said, shutting off his camera. "I didn't even get to film anything."

"Good," Sam said dangerously, stuffing her foot back into the shoe.

Danny looked mildly confused by the vehemence of her outburst. "I'll wait for you outside."

"Don't wait for me outside," Sam said. She had no desire to see him for the rest of the day. "Just go."

"But Sam, I'm—"

"Fenton, what part of 'don't disturb my class' don't you understand?" Tetschlav asked.

"I'm—leaving!" Danny amended, heading for the door in an uncomfortable hurry.

Sam felt her eyes stinging. Shifting her feet in the uncomfortable shoes, she felt the first trickle of blood slide down her foot.

* * *

With nothing to film and Tucker stuck in his last day of detention, Danny had decided to wait for Sam by the front doors. But when she showed up, back in her street clothes and with a murderous look on her face, she breezed right past him and strode outside.

"Sam?" Danny said, getting to his feet. "Sam, wait up!"

She didn't acknowledge him. Her walk was stiff, hands clenched into fists.

"Sam, slow down," Danny said. He practically had to jog to keep up with her. "What's wrong?"

Instead of slowing down, Sam stopped short and turned, causing him to walk into her. Shoving him back, she burst out, "_You_, you idiot. You're what's wrong."

"What!" Now he was thoroughly confused. "Me? What did I do?"

She was practically shaking with rage. "How dare you come into my class with that camera! Are you trying on purpose to make me feel like an idiot? Because you really don't have to bother. I feel like an idiot in there most of the time anyway, and I don't need you to capture it all on film."

Danny felt himself flush. He hadn't even considered the fact that she might have been embarrassed. "But I..."

"But nothing. I am so angry at you, Danny. Do you even know _why_ I was modeling for Paulina? I was being _punished_ because we got into a _fistfight_ yesterday over a blueberry _pie_."

"You didn't tell me that," Danny protested. "You just said you'd burned yourself."

Sam chose not to argue this point—like a smart soldier, she was going to stick to the battle she knew she could win. "It doesn't _matter_, Danny! If this project is so important to you that it means you care more about your grade than the way I feel, then maybe I shouldn't help you with it."

Ouch. That stung. Danny felt his teeth grit, because the easiest way out of this was to tell her the truth about why he was making the video. If that didn't prove he cared about her, then nothing would. Looking into those sad, angry eyes, he was tempted to just tell her everything, make her stop hurting—make _both_ of them stop hurting.

But all he got out was, "I'm sorry," and even that was a mumble.

After a silence, she started walking again, but at a normal pace. He walked beside her without speaking, giving her the space she seemed to need. He didn't ask the question till they were at her door.

"Do you want out?" His voice was scratchy with the question hidden beneath his question, the one she didn't know about, the one he was too scared to ask. "Tell me now if you do."

She sighed, looking tired. "Of course I don't want out. You know I'm down for the ride. I'm just...so mad at you right now."

Despite what she was saying, Danny was grateful for her honesty. He was pretty sure that their friendship had survived as much as it had because they were able to argue, disagree, and then get over it. He just wondered how long it was going to take her to get over this one. "I know. And you're right, and I'm sorry. I'll stop following you into everything—I'll think of something, okay?" Panic made him throw out the next sentence. "Sam, I know this doesn't make any sense right now, but I promise it will eventually. It might even be worth all this aggravation."

Now she looked openly skeptical. Not good.

"Just do me a favor, okay?" she asked wearily. "Next time you're going to humiliate me in front of my entire home ec class, can you please warn me first?" And then she shut the door.

On the way home, he cursed himself for a coward and an idiot. If he kept this charade up, he was going to end up driving Sam crazy, and things would get worse instead of better. His heart was telling him to just tell her the truth, but his head was telling him to cut his losses, and between the two was the taste of cherry frosting.

* * *

He lay on top of his covers, staring at the ceiling.

She was right, of course. She was usually right. It was one of the worst parts about arguing with her—she usually had a point.

He wondered what he'd gotten himself into with this. It had the potential to end very badly. He and Sam got along just fine when he didn't have a camera in his hand, but as soon as that _RECORD_ light went on it was like everything went to hell. It wasn't worth losing her over.

Stars twinkled outside his window and he thought about Lancer's class earlier that day. It wasn't fair. In movies and television, people had things like fairy godparents, or little crickets who acted as their conscience, or guardian angels who told them to go back and get their high school diplomas. Everything was always spelled out so neatly for them. _Where's my divine intervention?_ he wondered idly. _It's late, and I could really use some advice right now._

So when his phone rang, it startled him to a sitting position. He glanced around the room, checked his breathing for any kind of ghost sense. Nothing.

The phone shrieked its impatience again. Who was it? God? His inner voice calling collect?

Carefully, as if it were wired to explode, he picked up the phone. "Hello?"

The caller didn't even return the greeting, simply started in on the conversation as soon as she knew he was listening. "_Look, I tried to keep out of it, okay? I surfed the internet for a while, I went for a run, I took a shower—I even played **Ms. Pac Man** until my eyes started to hurt. But I can't stand it anymore. I have to know. Why did you need my Easy-Bake Oven?_"

Danny grinned against the mouthpiece. Not an angel, not his conscience, but someone almost as good. "Hello to you, too, Jazz. _Ms. Pac Man_, huh? See, you are still hunting ghosts, even away from home."

"_Yeah, can you ask Dad to send me more of that cereal? I like the marshmallow bits…so why did you need my oven_?"

"Sam's having some trouble in home economics," Danny explained. "Tucker and I were trying to teach her to bake."

"_With my toy oven? Danny, have you lost it_?"

"Why does everyone keep asking me that?" Danny asked mildly, following it with a laugh. "Don't worry, I had an ulterior motive. I'm trying to make a video essay, and Sam is helping me. I wanted to film her, you know…a little out of her element."

"_I can't believe she'd let you do that_," Jazz said.

"She didn't let me," he said glumly. "She finally got upset today and said I was humiliating her."

"_Ouch_," Jazz said.

"Yeah."

"_What's the video about?"_

Danny sighed. "Oh, I don't want to talk about it."

"_Danny, do I have to remind you that talking about our problems helps us all grow, and that—"_

"I said no, okay?" he interrupted irritably.

There was silence on the other end of the line, and then Jazz said, "_Wow, you're really upset about this_."

"Yes, I am. Can we talk about something else, please?" Danny frowned.

"_Sam will get over it, Danny. Just give her some time to cool off_," Jazz said kindly.

"I don't have time to give her," Danny said. "I have to finish this project. It's really, really important."

"_It's just a homework assignment_," Jazz began, but Danny cut her off.

"It's _not_ just a homework assignment! It's more than that, and if I screw this up—_wait_ a minute, since when do you say things like 'it's _just_ a homework assignment"!"

Jazz chuckled. "_Ah, how the tables have turned since I went to college_."

Danny scowled. "Fine. Make jokes. My life is going to be in shambles by the end of next week, and you're laughing about it."

He could hear the smile in Jazz's voice. "_I was wondering when you were going to wake up about Sam_."

Danny flopped back onto his pillow with the phone in his hand. "Yes. That's what Tucker said. I'm sure that's what everyone will say. Now, are you all going to rub it in my face, or do you have something useful to tell me?"

Jazz pretended to huff at him. "_Danny, do I have to do everything for you? If you're so worried about Sam getting angry with you, why don't you just go ghost when you film her?_"

Had they been in some kind of Nickelodeon cartoon or something, a light bulb might have gone _bing_ over Danny's head. Instead, he sat bolt upright in bed, his eyes widening in surprised delight. "Jazz. I know everyone tells you this, but you are a _genius_."

"_Duh_!" Jazz said. "_I expect a full report on this eventually_."

Danny laughed, the knot in his stomach finally starting to relax. "And you'll get one. As soon as it's worked out. I promise."

On the night table, his cell phone started to shrill. The LCD display flashed **TUCKER CALLING**.

"_Sounds like you're being paged_," Jazz said wistfully. "_Wish_ _I could be there. Call me tomorrow, okay? Let me know how it's going with Sam_."

"I will. Thanks, Jazz." Juggling phones, Danny hung up one and answered the other.

"_Hey, Danny? You might want to get out here_," Tucker chuckled nervously on the line. "Somebody _wants to play fetch_."

Danny poked his head out the window, hoping against hope he'd see not one, but two best friends waiting outside for him.

Well, almost.

* * *

"I was sort of hoping for _my_ best friend, not _man's_ best friend," Danny said from under a giant spectral paw.

"Can you get him to put me down?" Tucker said from the ghost dog's jaws. "He's not hurting me or anything, but this dog has a severe case of halitosis."

"This is the part where we both yell at each other for forgetting the Thermos," Danny sighed.

"_Sam_ was supposed to bring the Thermos!" Tucker protested. "I don't know where she is. I tried her phone, and she didn't answer!"

Danny flushed miserably. Obviously Sam still didn't want to see him. He decided to play dumb. "Look, don't worry about it, okay? I'll think of something." It seemed he was saying that a lot lately.

"Think of it _fast_," Tucker whined. "This bites. No pun intended."

"Cujo, _sit_," Danny snarled, going intangible long enough to slip out from underneath the ghost dog's big foot.

"Oh, yeah, right, like that's _ever_ worked before." Tucker, who was still hanging from the dog's teeth by his belt, folded his arms and rolled his eyes.

Danny was about to deliver a hot retort when a whistle caught everyone's attention. Cujo dropped Tucker, who landed ungracefully and scrambled away as fast as he could.

The dog's glowing red eyes searched happily for the new source of amusement, who was standing at the end of the block, waving something shiny in her hand.

"Here, Cujo," Sam said brightly, in a voice she only used for special occasions, like lying to their parents or trying to divert Lancer's attention from something they were doing. "Here, boy. Want to play?"

"Sam?" both boys called in surprise.

"Just a second," she said, making sure the dog's eyes were still tracking the object she held. "Here, Cujo. Fetch!" Almost gracefully, she threw what she was holding away from her. As it spun in an achingly lovely curve towards the horizon, Danny recognized it as the Fenton Boo-Merang.

"Nice throw, Sam," Tucker said, "but are you forgetting that that stupid thing is locked onto Danny's ecto-signature? It's just going to come right back."

"Yeah, but now we're ready," she said, tossing Danny the Thermos. "Think fast!"

Danny allowed himself a grin as he caught the Thermos, just in time for Cujo to come barreling back down the block in pursuit of his new toy.

Sam snatched the Boo-Merang out of the air as Danny flipped the switch, comforted by the familiar whine of the Thermos warming up. He tried not to keep an eye on Sam as the Thermos flared to bright life, trapping the spectral pooch inside.

"Now _that_ is teamwork," Danny said appreciatively to Sam when things were quiet. "Thanks for the save."

"Where the _hell_ have you been?" Tucker said, stomping over to them before Sam could answer Danny. "You think being shaken around like a chew toy is fun? You were supposed to be here an hour ago. I left you two messages, and Danny must have left you three!"

"Four," Danny corrected quietly. "It's no big, Tuck. She's here now."

Sam gave him a grateful look, which was how he knew the next words were for him, even though she was addressing Tucker. "I'm sorry, Tuck. You're right. I should have been here, and not been such a jerk."

"No, you were right," Danny said. "You weren't being a jerk."

"Hello!" Tucker said, completely oblivious to the conversation beneath the conversation. "I got chewed on by a ghost dog because Little Miss Latey-Pants over here—"

"Yes, but then she came back," Danny said, trying not to chuckle at the techno-geek. "You should forgive Sam, Tucker. I mean, that's what I would do." He glanced at Sam, who smiled, assuring him she understood his meaning.

With the mood sufficiently lightened, Sam narrowed her eyes playfully at Tucker. " 'Little Miss Latey-Pants'?"

Tucker sneered. "Not goth enough for you?"

Sam pulled Tucker's hat down over his eyes, her favorite way of ending an argument. "Come on, you wimps. I'm here now. We can start patrolling for real."

"Oh, now _you're_ here..." Tucker said sarcastically, then added, "Although that thing with the Boo-Merang was pretty quick thinking, I'll give you that."

"Yeah," Danny agreed. "I wish I'd had my camera!"

Tucker and Sam exchanged amused glances, and Danny had a feeling they were about to join forces against him. "I'll hold him," Tucker said to Sam, "you tickle him."

Danny's eyes widened, but there wasn't enough time to go intangible before they pounced.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

"**Pretty In Pink" **is by the Psychedelic Furs. This chapter was a toss-up between that and **"Sweet Cherry Pie"** by **Warrant**, which is one of the greatest hair-band songs ever. I decided that the former was more appropriate for this one, although the latter is still extremely funny XD. In the original cut of this chapter, I was going to have Tucker attempt to sing a few bars of the Warrant song, but the other characters begged me not to do that.

I couldn't resist adding a reference to **_Moonlighting_**, but my friend warned me I was going to have to explain it for those who might not understand it. For those unfamiliar with it, _Moonlighting_ was a very successful TV series in the 80s, starring Bruce Willis and Cybill Shepherd. The best thing about _Moonlighting_ was easily the romantic tension between the two leads. When the series came to its final season, the writers were sort of backed into a corner for a few reasons, and so they wrote the two characters finally getting romantically involved. The loss of the "will they or won't they?" tension caused the show to stagnate horribly, and it became utterly boring and unwatchable. I really feel this has made an unconscious impact on Hollywood and screenwriting in general; now everyone's afraid to let two characters fall in love for fear their show will become stale. And those of us who secretly want our characters to be allowed the luxury of a happy ending must suffer XD I agree that tension makes for a lot of fun and an overall great plot device, but can the characters at least get together in the _end_? How many years are we going to have to suffer for _Moonlighting_? XF

Please tell me **_Miami Vice_** speaks for itself. Otherwise I might have to hurt myself XD

Paulina calls Sam **_bitchola_** in home economics. _Bitchola_ is defined on the Urban Dictionary websiteas "an affectionate term for a female friend", but I've only ever heard it on the epic **South Park** episode **"Fat Butt and Pancake Head"**, where Cartman's Jennifer Lopez hand puppet greets the real J.Lo by saying, "!_Hola bitchola_!" in a most unfriendly manner. At any rate, it's meant to be hostile here.

After the home-ec debacle, Lancer tells Sam to "**make it work"**—just like Heidi Klum on _Project Runway._ Which is one of my guilty pleasures. XD Shoot me. Think less of me. Normally I hate reality TV, but I like that the people on _Project Runway_ actually create something, and aren't making the show's "plot" out of being washed-up celebrities or being married to each other or something stupid like that.

I was not allowed to have an **Easy-Bake Oven** when I was a kid because my parents were afraid I might hurt myself. Eventually, I stole my cousin's and attempted to become a culinary genius, till I realized that a 100-watt light bulb is not enough to cook a layer cake. What the hell kind of toys were we playing with here?

"**I am a Marshmallow Peep. Smash my head please."** This is actually a quote from the margins of **Jhonen Vasquez's "Squee's Wonderful Big Giant Book of Unspeakable Horrors". **It has nothing to do with the story of Squee, it's just a little marshmallow chick hanging out in the margin. I found it hilarious, and I really like Marshmallow Peeps, but who doesn't? I have a soft plush Marshmallow Peep chick on my desk at work. I love those guys! And now they're half-price cause Easter is over. ….I think, anyway.

I was happy to include one of my favorite ghosts in this chapter—**Cujo**! While I'm unsure if that's what he's really called, I believe that he is referred to every so often as "Cujo", after the rabid dog in Stephen King's novel of the same name.

This seemed to take forever. I have no idea if anyone's even still reading this thing! XD

**Chapter Four:** Danny takes Jazz's advice. For once. Coming soon to a theater or drive-in near you!


	4. Such Good Photography

**Author's Introduction:**

I apologize for the ls I'm using to divide sections of this chapter. The bally ruler function on the blinkin' document editor refuses to work. I have to say I miss just uploading fics from my own files. This bally thing is a pain.

Okay, everyone who's been following this story will know: I began this and came up with the idea _before _"Double-Cross My Heart" even aired, so I swear I didn't take that whole "Danny spies on Sam" thing from an actual episode. (Really! Check the update date! XD) Sometimes I honestly think certain television studios have my brain wired for surveillance. When I sat down with Danny to start this chapter and brought my concerns to his attention, he just smiled and me and said we'd work it out, that we always do. And I have to say he's right about that.

"At times like these, going on with one's life seems impossible, and eating the entire contents of one's fridge seems inevitable." (Bridget Jones)

My life is falling apart. I used to work on this fic at my job. Now I don't have that anymore, and a million things happened in between then and now, and the job search is getting increasingly more difficult so I had to take something small just to pay the bills. I'm starting to get rather depressed, so I keep trying to keep the creative wheels turning. A lot of that energy has gone into fanart on my DeviantArt page (http/firestar9mm. but I refuse to give up on writing. I dragged Danny into my den by his collar and sat us both down with chocolate milk and said "We are going to finish this chapter tonight _for sure_!" And he was quite helpful, and we did.

So here's chapter four. And after that, chapter five. Still alive!

lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll

_**Eye of the Beholder**_

_A Danny Phantom fanfiction_

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**Chapter Four: Such Good Photography**

_You've got me captured, I'm under your spell  
__I guess I'll never learn  
__I have your picture  
__Yes, I know it well  
__Another page is turned…  
__And while she watches I can never be free  
__Such good photography!  
__I'll wait till your love comes down  
__I'm coming straight for your heart  
__No way you can stop me now  
__As fine as you are_

**(_I'll Wait_, Van Halen)**

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Sam bent feverishly over the sewing machine. She was not going to let this beat her. She would make a dress for home economics if that was what she had to do to pass, but it would be _her_ dress. Her terms. And if she had to stay up all night to do it, then all night.

She would show that awful old stoat Mrs. Tetschlav. She'd finish her dress herself, _before_ next week, and she'd model it herself when grading time came. Paulina would think she'd won, because she wouldn't have to model a goth garment in front of the entire class, but Sam would be the real winner—she'd pass on her own merit and not give in to Mrs. Tetschlav's insane rules and unfair punishments. She'd show them all.

She'd come up with the design herself—they'd had to, and Mrs. Tetschlav had devoted an entire class to it, circling the workstations like a sparrowhawk to make sure everyone was coming up with an original design. Then she'd made copies of everyone's design and kept them in a folder, so that no one could simply pick a dress out of a boutique and say they'd deviated from their design. Like Mr. Lancer, Mrs. Tetschlav made cheating in her classes next to impossible.

Sam's dress design was simple—she hadn't wanted to make extra work for herself by trying to do something complicated. The hardest part was the satin cap sleeves, and sewing them to the PVC she was using for the bodice was proving to be no picnic. But the rest was easy—a satin skirt that billowed from the waist all the way down to her ankles, a deceptively simple gown with a neckline that yawned like the jaws of hell. She smirked as the needle broke through the plastic yet again.

Not up to competition standard, indeed!

lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll

Danny had barely passed his last two science courses—in fact, his straight 'C' average was in danger of becoming a 'D'. But suddenly, all the things he'd never written down in his notebook were coming back to him.

For instance, when a body was exercising—running away from a ghost, maybe, or from Dash Baxter; or in Sam's case, home economics—lactate was produced faster than the body's tissues were able to remove it by supplying oxygen. Contrary to popular belief, this buildup did not directly cause the burning in one's muscles commonly associated with lactic acid.

So _why_ did his arms feel like they were going to fall off?

Danny hoped that Lancer was going to stick with the lesson plan and give them as much time in the editing lab as he'd promised—if he kept just letting the camera roll like this, he'd end up with a ton of extra footage. He'd been holding the camera up in front of Sam's window for nearly ten minutes. Luckily, she'd left her heavy drapes open. He wasn't confident enough to phase through her wall; she would be able to sense that he was in the room. She was just that good.

But tonight Sam's concentration seemed entirely focused on a sewing machine and the fabric she was sliding through it—Danny assumed it was her sewing project. All he could see was black satin and the shine of an overhead light on PVC. He chuckled, his sensory memory supplying him with the scent of vinyl, leather, and a hint of sugar underneath—the scent of Sam. Shaking his sudden blush away, he tried to calculate how long she'd been working on it. He'd seen bits of satin peeking out of her backpack every so often over the last week, which made him think she'd been bringing it back and forth to work on at home. Right now, she'd been toiling without a break for at least as long as he'd been camped out in the tree outside her window—nearly an hour—but it was hardly for Danny to know how long it would take to finish sewing a dress, or how much she'd worked before that.

Her brow was knitted in concentration, and he had to smile at the way she caught her tongue at the corner of her mouth, unable to believe how much energy she was devoting to something she hated.

Actually, it wasn't so hard to believe. Sam never did anything halfway, something he admired greatly about her. Gothic fashion, ultra-recyclo-vegetarianism, ghost hunting, friendship—Sam gave her all to every single one. There was something to be said for a girl so tenacious she'd enter a beauty pageant just to teach the audience a lesson in perspective. And while there were elements of the ridiculous about her protests—except for her campaign to save the biology frogs from dissection, _he_ had ruined that one—her heart was in the right place.

It prompted a thought that made excitement curl in his stomach—if he ever managed to let her know he wanted something deeper than their friendship, what would it feel like to be the focus of that amazing energy, that ferocious love?

He wanted so badly to find out. Without his conscious control, his face was sliding into that contented smile, eyelids dropping to half-mast, lips curling slowly at the corners. He remembered well the first time she'd put that look on his face, the first time their lips had met. Valerie had been in hot pursuit of "Inviso-Bill", and Sam had come up with a desperate measure for a desperate time. She'd leapt on him and her weight had carried them both to the ground, and he knew he hadn't been imagining the fevered light in her eyes as she rode him down before leaning in close and—

Blinking his sudden blush away, he realized Sam had left her room. The sewing machine was idle and still on the card table she'd dragged in to place it on, but goth and dress were missing. Startling to attention, Danny cursed himself for being caught unaware. Deciding to take his chances, he phased through her wall, invisible, silent as possible. A few steps around the room he knew so well confirmed what he'd seen. No Sam in the bedroom. No Sam in the hallway.

He was looking in her partially open closet for her favorite leather jacket—she wouldn't have left the house without taking it; the night was surprisingly chilly—when he noticed the light go out under her bathroom door. Cursing himself for an idiot—he hadn't even considered the bathroom—he stepped into the closet, the hand holding the camera partially phasing through a black and purple corset and his intangible feet standing in a pair of Sam's lace-up knee boots. Hiding in the closet was already proving to be a mistake—seeing Sam's clothes made him think of what she'd look like _in_ the clothes, the corset and boots especially. Shaking these thoughts away before they moved on to even more dangerous territory where most of the clothes were decidedly absent, he sucked in a breath just before the bathroom door opened.

Sam came back into the room, headed for her floor-length mirror. Without his control, his thoughts swung from the racy right back to the romantic when he saw the result of her efforts. The dress was mostly finished, although two big safety pins were holding the side zipper to the PVC. A sliver of bare skin could be seen between the pins, but it didn't disrupt the fit of the dress. The stitches, while neat, were large and unprofessional, but he had to admit they looked goth; she could play that off and say that she'd planned it that way. The only real flaw was that the skirt was too long. She stumbled on the way to her mirror, then finally got tangled up in it and went down for good halfway across the room.

Danny held his breath; her head was lowered and her hair was obscuring her face. Her shoulders shook, and he wondered if he should come out of hiding and ask her if she were all right. But then she lifted her head, and he realized she was laughing at herself. It was easy to see she was proud of her efforts, as elementary as they were. He smiled at her and remembered his camera. Hoping she wouldn't hear the _whirr_ that sounded when he turned it on, he trained it on her and did his best to hide the lighted screen.

Sam had regained her feet and made it to the mirror, turning this way and that as any girl would do. Seemingly satisfied, she walked a few steps back towards the bed, then stopped. Camera still rolling, Danny froze. Had she heard him, sensed somehow that he was there?

But she said nothing. Instead, she gathered her skirt in one hand and started to spin, slowly at first, then faster. She let go of the fabric and the gathers of the dress unfolded, swinging around her till she lost her balance and fell again, onto the bed this time. Her giggles were muffled into the pillow as she rolled onto her side, and then she didn't move again. After a few minutes, Danny stepped carefully out of the closet, wondering even as he did it why he was bothering to sneak past while he was already invisible. It was strange with her there, lounging in that gown, as if he'd trespassed in the queen's chambers and needed to be quiet. Passing closer to the bed, he saw the steady rise and fall of her chest beneath the shiny vinyl; she was asleep.

Danny turned off the camera and reached for her bedside lamp, extinguishing the light and allowing himself one more glance before phasing back out into the night. The camera wouldn't get to see Sam curled up on her bed in her pretty dress, but glowing green eyes could see in any dark.

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_Her heart hurt. _

_Her heart hurt and the lights were dim, and she thought she saw Danny next to her bed, smiling down at her as he reached for the lamp. She stretched out her arm, ignoring the pain, knowing he could help, but he put out the light and then everything was dark._

Sam woke up with a start, pressing her hand over her heart. The stabbing pain worsened, and she looked down and saw what was wrong—one of the safety pins she'd used to secure the bodice of her dress had come undone and was pressing into her skin. Pulling it carefully away, she sighed and tossed it onto the card table with the sewing machine.

Dreaming of Danny again. She was starting to get used to it.

_Not fourteen anymore_, she thought absently as she unpinned the dress and let it fall to pool around her feet. She knew that sooner or later it wouldn't just be puppy-love crushes on girls like Paulina. Soon there would be more girls like Valerie, girls who were actually interested in Danny. And Sam would still be standing silently by, unable to tell Danny how she really felt about him. She knew her time was running out.

Sometimes she thought she could do it—she and Danny would share a smile and she'd know that she wanted that smile forever. But the moment would pass and the fear would set in—fear that she couldn't keep it, that she'd scare that smile away with the truth.

If she told him, she ran the risk of spoiling the friendship that she'd held close to her heart all her life—ruining the comfortable status quo that she, Danny and Tucker shared; that security she loved so much. But if she didn't tell him, she'd have to sit and watch him date every girl in Amity Park—in the _world_—except her, until he found a girl who'd steal that smile from her forever.

The problem was that she hadn't decided yet.

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Dash Baxter hated a lot of things.

Luckily for the rest of society, Dash didn't devote a whole hell of a lot of thought to his hatred. He had all the self-awareness of a car battery, and his hatred was an easy thing to avoid as long as it wasn't looking directly at you. Of course, not everyone was that lucky. Some were unluckier than others.

Dash Baxter hated a lot of things, but there was little he hated more than seeing Danny Fenton looking so happy. There was something _different_ about Fenton lately—he had this confidence about him that was just begging to be crushed. The biggest surprise of all had been in gym class the other day, when the smaller boy had actually threatened to _fight_ him—Dash's jaw had dropped to his Nikes when he'd heard _that_.

Still, the most influential factor in that incident had been, as always, spooky Sam Manson. All someone had to do was upset or threaten her, and Danny Fenton bared fangs and leapt to her defense. Sort of like Cringer turning into Battlecat in the light of He-Man's enchanted sword.

"I know it's usually the other way around, Fenton, but I think today I'll turn your _smile_ upside down."

"You put _way_ too much thought into this," Danny said, his face flushing slightly from the rush of blood to his head—Dash had seized his ankles and turned him upside down. "Nice shoes, Dash. Where'd you get them, a telephone line?"

Dash's face contorted and he gave Danny a shake, which was the best comeback he had. "Jeez, Fenton. It wasn't enough that your girlfriend stopped you from puttin' up your dukes in gym class, huh? You're really asking for it!"

Danny swatted at Dash's shins, looking for all the world like a big, angry housecat being held by its footpaws.

"Put him down!" Tucker ordered, rounding a corner and taking in the scene.

Dash treated him to a brilliant grin and obeyed. Danny, of course, landed on his head.

"Thanks, Tuck," Danny groaned from the floor.

For his part, Tucker looked guilty. "Sorry, I didn't think that one through."

"Maybe I should film this for my video essay," Dash guffawed as he watched his prey rub his aching head. "It's a beautiful sight!"

Danny got to his feet, with help from Tucker. "You wouldn't know beauty if it came up and bit you in the _face_."

"Want to _bet_?" Dash jeered. "Lancer's as much as said he doesn't expect you to pass our video assignment. You'll be lucky to get an F-plus!"

"I'm sure you know all about F-pluses," Danny remarked dryly. "I could get a better grade than you if I filmed a guy sleeping for eight hours!"

"So let's put your video where your big mouth is, Fentard!"

Tucker stepped in. "Danny, don't. You remember what happened the last time you had a bet with Dash. Hello? Underwear sandwich?"

Danny shuddered. "Don't remind me, okay? The taste is still clinging to the back of my throat. And I would have won that bet if it hadn't been for my parents," he added. He pointed a finger at Dash. "You're on. If I get a better grade than you, I get to borrow your car for the entire weekend."

Dash's eyes sparked, as if he hadn't been expecting such a stake. "Not bad, Fenton. But if _I_ win, you have to attend an entire day of classes in _her_ dress." He pointed across the hallway to…

"Sam?" Danny and Tucker exclaimed.

Sam was walking carefully down the corridor, the bodice of the black gown forcing her breasts to defy gravity. The skirt was starlit nightfall around her, just brushing the floor so that her heels were audible but not visible beneath it. The satin shone in the overhead lights. Her makeup was perfect.

For one minute, even Tucker was at a loss for words, until the silence finally got to him and he grated out, "Wow."

Dash howled. "You're gonna look great in that, Fentina! Make sure you wear the black eyeliner, too!"

"What are you talking about, Dash?" Sam gave the jock the withering glance she kept on reserve for him.

Dash gave her his best yearbook smile, but his eyes were twinkling evilly. "Oh…you'll see." He turned and lumbered off, Godzilla returning to the depths of the Tokyo bay.

Sam folded her arms beneath her breasts and laughed a dark-chocolate laugh, drawing the boys' attention back to her. "Do I want to know what he's talking about?" she teased, arching a brow at them.

Tucker laughed, too. "No. You definitely don't."

Danny said nothing; he'd turned his full attention to Sam. "Your dress is finished," he said softly.

Sam blushed and dropped her gaze. "Yup," she said, almost shyly.

Danny's heart forced itself into his throat. "Turn around for me?" He hadn't meant for his voice to crack.

Forgetting her shame, she raised her eyes to his, looking confused. "Huh?"

"Turn around," he said, softly so that telltale crack wouldn't creep into his words again. "Please?" he added.

Still looking puzzled, Sam turned slowly, her heels clacking on the floor as her hips swayed from side to side in a graceful rotation. From far away, the skirt had seemed to sparkle; up close, Danny could see that effect had come from dozens and dozens of tiny dark rhinestones on the skirt.

"You look…" he said, unsure of what word to choose. What would sound the way he felt without being…completely uncool?

Sam's face looked shy but pleased, waiting, waiting…

"Wow, Sam. You made that?" Tucker said appreciatively.

Danny let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He wasn't sure if he was annoyed at Tucker for being so predictable as to get in the way yet again, or if he was relieved to have more time to think of a word to describe how she looked.

"Sure did," Sam said proudly, swishing her skirt. "Took me nearly forever, but it's done and it hasn't come apart, tripped me, ripped, popped a seam, or fallen off yet. So I'm pretty happy with it," she laughed.

"Did you sew all those rhinestones on yourself?" Tucker asked, adjusting his glasses to inspect her skirt.

Sam gave him a look. "Have you shot your bolt? Of course I didn't. I went to my attic and found my mother's old Bedazzler. Sewing them on would have taken me till graduation."

Tucker was grinning. "Pretty slick, Sam. I'm proud of you."

"Me, too," Danny added, trying to fight off the remains of his blush. "You look—"

The bell rang.

"Corks," Sam hissed. "I've got to get to home ec before I rip the hem of this thing! See you guys after." She wheeled clumsily, a glittery, noisy party favor making her careful way down the hall.

"Gentlemen, you're late," Mr. Lancer said, coming into the doorway. Glancing after Sam, he added, "Well, _Better Homes and Gardens_! Ms. Manson isn't doing so badly in home ec after all, it seems. That dress is quite beautiful."

Danny smacked his forehead. "Beautiful" would have been a very good word to say to Sam.

Lancer gave him a rather evil grin. "Pity you didn't have your camera, isn't it, Mr. Fenton?"

Danny answered that with a glare and headed into the classroom.

"Yeah, that's too bad, Danny, you should start carrying it around with you again," Tucker supplied unhelpfully. Danny swung the glare his way.

Dash guffawed from the front of the room. "Remember, Fenton Ford Coppola, when I get a better grade than you, _you're_ going to be wearing that dress!"

"I wonder how fast your car will go on the open road, Dash? One-ten? One-forty?" Danny snarled in answer.

Lancer rapped a pointer on the blackboard. "Gentlemen! If you please. Since you're feeling so vocal, which one of you wants to be the first to tell me the answers to last night's homework questions?"

Danny and Dash immediately pointed at each other in a rare occurrence of agreement—sort of. "_He_ does."

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Sam was back in her street clothes at her locker when Danny and Tucker caught up to her.

"I like that smile," Danny purred. "I take it the project went well?"

Sam closed her locker, looking smug. "Even Mrs. Tetschlav had to admit I'd worked my tail off on that stupid thing. And I think she secretly liked the way the rhinestones made it sparkly. She said she was 'forced' to give me a B-plus."

"A B-plus!" Tucker exclaimed. "Way to go, Sam! That's awesome!" He held up his hand for a high-five, and the goth happily smacked him one.

"A B-plus!" Danny exclaimed as well, except that he sounded a lot more incredulous. "Is she insane? You worked so hard on it! You stayed up all night sewing it and adjusting the stitching—you even fell asleep trying it on! And you look beautiful in it! She should have given you an A." He folded his arms, scowling.

Tucker's eyes were wide and he was stepping on Danny's toes insistently, over and over again as if trying to convey a desperate message.

But Sam looked surprised and—pleased! " 'And the little kangaroo in his pouch said, 'HUMPH!' too'!" she giggled. "Danny, I'm perfectly happy with a B-plus, as long as I pass this stupid class. But it's nice of you to say that."

"I mean it," he said, more calmly. "It really did look great, Sam. You really did your homework."

"Speaking of homework," Tucker said, "Danny had better get started on his, or that dress is going to get an encore."

It was Danny's turn to step on Tucker's foot as Sam gave them a puzzled look. "You guys keep making allusions to Danny and my dress. _What_ are you not telling me?"

Danny put a hand behind his head guiltily. "Ah—_nothing_!" Keeping his foot firmly on Tucker's to stop him from talking, he added, "But I do need to finish up my video. Are you free to film tonight?"

It was Sam's turn to look guilty. "Um—actually, no. I've got—this thing."

The boys narrowed their eyes suspiciously. "A _thing_?" Tucker asked.

"What kind of thing?" Danny cross-examined. "Homework-thing, family-thing, doctor's-appointment-thing, date-thing, what kind of thing?" He narrowed his eyes further until they were nothing more than icy slits and leaned into Sam like an obsessive detective. "It's not a date-thing, is it?"

"No," Sam giggled, pushing him gently back. "It's not a 'date-thing'. Overprotective much?"

"Much," Tucker chuckled. Danny stomped his foot.

"Look, I'm just looking out for you," Danny said. "You remember what happened the last time?"

Sam rolled her eyes. "I had nearly forgotten, but thanks for opening up a painful scar!" she joked.

Danny blanched. "I just…you know," he said sheepishly.

"Do I?" Sam asked softly.

_Now would be a good time_, Danny told himself. _Now_ _would be a great time. Just say it. It'll take less than a minute._

"It'll take less than an hour," Sam said before he could psych himself up enough. "How about I come over after my thing?"

Danny willed his eyes to stay blue at the mention of the "thing". "Very well," he teased in an affected voice. "Go to your 'thing' if you must. But I'll have you know you'll wish you were with me the whole time."

Tucker pretended the ceiling was very interesting, but Sam laughed good-naturedly. "I just might. See you later, okay?" Turning to leave the building, she almost ran smack into an irate Paulina.

The popular princess' eyes were narrowed and she was scowling, biting the words off through gritted teeth as if she could barely leash her rage. "You may have won _this_ round, goth chick, but you just _wait_, you just _wait_ until the Christmas cookie project!" Turning an about-face on her heel, she stomped away.

Sam glanced around at the crowd in the hallway, who'd witnessed the spectacle. Jerking a thumb in the direction Paulina had stormed off, she said, "B-minus," and shrugged.

The crowd accepted the explanation and continued what they were doing. Danny tapped Tucker's shoulder. "Come with me to my locker. I've got to get my camera and beat her home."

"Oh, no, you don't," Tucker said. "Since you brought up 'last time', you remember how angry she got when she found out you'd been spying on her?"

"This—is—_different_," Danny insisted through gritted teeth. "Besides, Tuck—her _thing_ might be something noteworthy for my film!"

Tucker sighed, realizing he couldn't stop Danny from hanging himself. "I doubt it."

But in truth, Tucker couldn't have been more wrong.

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Tucker was completely depressed. He'd bought the best video camera—state-of-the-art, with bells and whistles that he couldn't even pronounce. And yet every attempt he'd made to film beauty had ended in failure, except for the time he'd tried to film inside the girls' locker room—that had ended in _dismal, painful_ failure. And detention, which he'd finally finished serving last week.

Walking at his side, Tucker saw a determined smile on his best friend's face. The halfa looked like he didn't have a care in the world.

Which made no sense to Tucker, really. At first glance, Danny's life seemed full of problems, the most immediate of which was the fact that Sam was undoubtedly going to catch him spying sooner or later. He'd nearly given the game away earlier in the hallway, and no amount of stepping on his foot had brought it to his attention. On top of that, by now everyone had heard the story about how Sam had thrown him and his camera out of home economics. His project didn't seem to be going well, and his interactions with Sam seemed to be erratic at best.

So why smile?

Tucker had a sneaking suspicion that it had something to do with love. Despite everything that was going wrong lately, Danny had been far more relaxed than usual, as if the decision to finally make his move for Sam had lifted a huge weight off his shoulders. Even when Sam had gotten annoyed at him, Danny kept an unshakable faith that all would be forgiven in the end—as if the fact that he loved her was everything, and it would make all the hurt disappear.

For Danny's sake, Tucker hoped that was true. Did love make you forget that _everything_ else in your life was going wrong? Was that love? What was that?

Maybe that was the problem, Tucker reflected. His own two great loves—technology and beautiful women—had failed him. There had to be something else, _anything_ else he found worthy enough to film!

As he pondered this dilemma, his stomach growled. _Man, I'm hungry_, he thought, looking at his watch. _Maybe I'll hit up the Nasty Burger after Danny gets to Sam's…_

It was as if the clouds parted and a ray of sunlight hit its mark right on his brain. Of course! The thing he loved best was at the Nasty Burger, every day!

"That's it!" he yelled, throwing his arms wide and nearly knocking Danny over.

"What's it?" Danny laughed, covering his face to block.

"I got it—I know what I'm going to film for my video essay!" Tucker said.

Danny grinned, glad his friend had found his muse. "What is it?"

"You'll see, man, you'll see." Tucker laughed. "I gotta go get started. Good luck with Sam tonight."

A high-five and a smile exchanged, and the two boys headed to their respective goals.

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Sam pursed her purple lips at her mirror. Damn that Danny. She'd meant to dress up for her…thing…tonight, but now she wasn't sure whether or not her forty-five minutes of going overboard on it were for her previous engagement or for the fact that she was meeting him afterward.

"And the beautiful princess descended the stairs and kissed her grandmother goodbye," a voice said as she got to the foot of the stairs.

Sam grinned and obeyed. "Knock it off, Grandma."

Sam's grandmother smiled and ruffled her granddaughter's hair. "You look very pretty, Sammy. Going to see your Danny tonight?"

"No!" Sam squealed. "Well, yes, but not till later on. I didn't dress up for _that_."

Her grandmother just laughed. "So you dressed up for your other thing, and it's just a coincidence that you're going to see Danny afterward?"

"Exactly," Sam said frostily, heading for the door.

Shaking her head and smiling, her grandmother called, "Knock him dead, Sammy!"

"I will!" Sam shut the door. "Wait a minute. Did she say 'him' or 'them'?"

Choosing to ignore the thought, she sighed and wrapped her arms around herself for a second. It was a little colder than she'd expected.

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Danny actually felt the temperature drop around him. That only happened when his powers flared up—which usually happened when his emotions got out of control.

Whichever it was, Sam was _not_ dressed for anything but a "date-thing" in his opinion. Spiderweb high-hi stockings were definitely date-thing clothes. And he recognized that purple corset from hiding in her closet. He'd been right—it looked even better when she was actually wearing it.

For one wild second, he thought of turning visible in her path. _Don't go out with him, Sam. Go out with me_. But he remained a…ghost, watching her.

But whoever her date was, he wasn't picking her up—point in the minus column, Danny thought smugly.

Sam was the only Manson who purposely stopped using the family's chauffeur as soon as she'd gotten her driver's license. She got into her comfortably battered Mustang and started the ignition. After following her for a few blocks, Danny recognized the route—she was heading for one of her favorite haunts, the Skulk and Lurk bookstore.

Inwardly, Danny groaned. She was probably meeting some goth who'd recite bad poetry to her and make toasts with absinthe as he compared her beauty to lame stuff like the dark of the grave and the gleam of vampire fangs. He rolled glowing green eyes and wondered if he should just go home.

…Yeah, right. No way.

The people who hung out at the Skulk and Lurk always cracked Danny up. Half of them were usually legitimate goths, punks, fringers or just plain degenerates. But the other half…you got a real cross-section of middle-schoolers who were just pretending, genuinely confused kids who weren't sure they should be there but didn't fit in anywhere else, or the worst of all—those rare, disturbed individuals who played role-playing games. The first couple of times Danny and Tucker had gone to the Skulk and Lurk with Sam, all three took perverse delight in trying to make those people see the light, only to be confronted with increasingly hysterical shrieks of "I am _so_ a vampire! My powers are dark and terrible, and when we overrun the daywalkers you will suffer long and slow!" or something else along those lines. Eventually, Danny realized it was much more fun to play along and laugh at the ridiculous things that were said over shakes at the Nasty Burger later.

Danny _really_ hoped Sam wasn't meeting one of _those_ guys. If she was, he was afraid he'd _have_ to intervene.

Compared to some of them, she was dressed downright conservatively. The Skulk and Lurk was always packed on nights they had poetry slams—there was even a bouncer at the door wearing metal gauntlets and a ring pierced through both nostrils, like a bull. To get past him, you had to be either famous, drop dead gorgeous, or dressed like something out of a Jhonen Vasquez book. There was a line when Sam got there, so Danny amused himself keeping tabs on those who got in right away, those who were told to wait for a manager's verdict, and those who were told to just go home. Those who got in: a girl dressed from head to toe in spiderwebs with a live tarantula on her shoulder; a boy with a noose around his neck, and a boy and a girl who appeared to be sewn together (or, at least, their outfit was). Danny was actually wondering if the fact that Sam was a regular would be enough to get her in, but when it was her turn, the bouncer simply smiled at her and nodded his head, and she went in.

When Sam was shown to her table at the back of the room, no one was waiting for her. It didn't seem to bother her; she simply sat and ordered something to drink calmly, her eyes flicking over the other patrons every so often. Sometimes she smiled to herself, other times she looked thoughtful, but she never once glanced back at the door, or looked around for her date. Danny had to wonder. She'd said she wasn't going on a date. Maybe she really wasn't.

_She doesn't lie_, a nagging voice said in his mind. _Not like you._

_Shut up, brain,_ he shot back. _I'm in love, which has nothing to do with you and your logic._

Danny wanted very badly to sit at Sam's table with her, but she'd notice the chill of his presence. More than that, she'd notice _him_, and he wouldn't be able to keep silent if she felt him near. Instead, he hung back against the nearby wall, still intangible. The other patrons for the most part did not notice his presence—except a pair across the room. The man leaned to whisper in the woman's ear; she tilted her head to hear the secret, then followed his gaze to the wall where Danny was invisibly leaning. They both smiled—kind, interested smiles—and Danny realized they could see him. He tensed, waiting for them to call out to him or approach him, but they turned back to their drinks and to each other, leaving him alone. He let out the breath he'd been holding.

Maybe not _everyone_ at the Skulk and Lurk was a phony.

Grateful to the mediums for leaving him in peace but still shuddering from the close call, he turned his attention to the stage and focused on the show.

He was almost immediately sorry he'd done so.

The boy—at least, Danny was pretty sure it was a boy—was reading his poem in a voice like dead leaves scraping on concrete, but he was having trouble seeing past long, pale hair, which he kept seizing in his free hand and throwing over his shoulder. It would slide back to cover his eyes every third line or so.

"_Demons from hell seek the chosen one. Utter blackness eats my…_"

He paused, throwing his hair over his shoulder.

"…_eats my heart and soul_."

Sam sighed, crossing one leg over the other and propping her chin on her hand. Danny smiled. At least she didn't like it either.

By the end of an hour, Danny was truly suffering. He had a feeling Sam was too—he noticed her eyes fluttering shut every so often and her head drooping, but she'd snap awake and pretend to pay attention again almost immediately.

"_I curl like a snake around his heart and sink my fangs in_," a girl was moaning on the stage. Danny felt like banging his head against the wall. Not only were these poems bad, they were all about fifteen minutes long. Didn't anybody write haikus anymore?

Dirty limericks, even?

And Sam was still alone at her table. Danny was now convinced she'd been telling the truth. She'd never wait this long if she'd thought she was being stood up. And the poetry was _bad_. There was no reason to stay.

_So what are you still doing here, Sam?_ Danny asked silently. _Don't you want to come see me? Don't you know I'm waiting for you?_

And then the MC—a tall, spindly man who was wearing more eyeliner than Sam—gave her a friendly nod, and she stood up as the spotlight found its way to her. She nodded her acknowledgement, then walked to the stage. Danny watched in awe as Sam ascended the platform, rising gracefully above the assembled crowd. Almost shyly, she took her place and posed. She held nothing in her hands, no book, no paper. Whatever she was about to say, she knew by heart.

So this was the "thing" she'd had to do tonight—a "thing" she'd want to dress prettily for, a "thing" she wouldn't necessarily want Danny or Tucker to know about. Danny felt his heart swell and a smile creep across his face—her shyness was so _cute_.

He barely had the presence of mind to turn on his camera and focus as Sam took a breath, eyes closed. When she opened them again, she fixed them on the back of the room—a middle distance that she didn't know Danny was invisible in.

Spellbound, he continued to film as Sam began to speak.

_It's not the night-time that I fear; I don't believe in ghosts.  
__But I can't sleep, and I'm still haunted, and awake I lie.  
__I claim I do not love him, but still awake I lie.  
__They do not come—not sleep, not love, not he I want the most;  
__I tell myself that it's all right—  
__I don't believe in ghosts._

Appreciative murmurs were almost instantaneous, even if some of them just liked it because it was the shortest of the poems yet. Danny let a shiver take him; what could she have meant by those lines?

Sam was blushing; she didn't hang around after her performance was finished. Danny noticed the mediums watching as she headed for the back door; he sketched a mock salute at them before he chased her. Their soft laughter followed him out—the two happiest people in that entire building.

lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll

"Welcome to Nasty Burger, how can I—oh, it's you." Valerie frowned at Tucker over the cash register. "What'll it be, Foley?"

"I need your help," Tucker said. "For my video essay." At her horrified look, he added, "Look, just hear me out, okay? I promise I'll have you on my side in five minutes."

Valerie narrowed her eyes. "I go on break in ten minutes. This had better be good."

Tucker smiled. "If you help me, it will be."

lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll

Danny had just arranged himself in what he thought was a believable sofa-remote-control-television position when Sam rang the bell. Danny's mother happened to be passing through and was closer to the door. "Well, hello, Sam! Oh, don't you look pretty!"

"Thanks, Mrs. Fenton. Is Danny home?" Sam swept in and chuckled when she saw Danny lying on the sofa. "Rough night?"

"You have no idea," Danny said as he sat up. "What happened to your date?"

"I told you, I didn't have a date." She stretched her hands to him. "Come on, want to film?"

"Want to be _my_ date?" Danny asked lightly. "I'll bribe you with ice cream?"

She gave him a wary look. "Don't you have to finish your video essay?"

"Saaaaaammmyyyyy," he cajoled. "Iiiiiice creeeeaam."

She tried not to giggle, but failed.

"It'll be fine, Sam. Promise. Come on, let's get ice cream. My mom's right, you look too nice to stay in."

"Oh, knock it off. And you're paying for the ice cream," she said.

"My pleasure," he laughed. "After all, you are my date."

"I'm a little too dressed up to go to Carvel," she said.

He pretended to make a big show of looking her over. "You're right. Wait here. I'll go put on a suit."

Maddie Fenton smiled secretly at the laughter coming from the foyer, and was careful not to go back into the living room until she heard the door shut behind them.

lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll

Somewhere out in the night, he woke, the same way he'd been waking all the time lately—scared and alone.

He wasn't sure where he was, but it was dark and cold. He felt lonely, and uncared for, and even the moon seemed not to hear the whimpers he couldn't hold back.

The first few nights he'd paced his prison, searching for a way out, for anything, but as the days slipped by he had tired of that and had begun to realize the nights were all the same. No one was coming for him; he was alone.

Alone in the universe.

He lay down and fought wakefulness back, for it was only in sleep he felt free.

lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll

**Author's Notes:**

I wish it hadn't taken me so long to get this chapter up. I mean, I wish a lot of things, but I can't find Cosmo or Wanda lately. I hope they're in Chocolate City, Utah, or something like that. Somewhere that tastes good. Come back soon, guys! I have wishes!

When Dash is annoyed at Danny's recent cheerfulness, a mention is made of Prince Adam of Eternia's faithful cat companion, Cringer, who becomes Battlecat when Adam's Greyskull sword turns him into He-Man. (My cousin and I used to watch a lot of _Masters of the Universe_ when we were kids. Stripe me rudder if they haven't just put that out on DVD, too.)

Danny also tells Dash that he could get a better grade even if he filmed "a guy sleeping for eight hours". Sorry, Danny, Andy Warhol beat you to that in 1963.

Okay, who remembers that ridiculous Bedazzler thing that they sold on TV in the 90s:D

"_And the little kangaroo in her pouch said, 'HUMPH!' too!"_ The local teen drama group just did "Seussical! The Musical". Not a surprise that I'm a big fan of the Sour Kangaroo. XD

Please don't blame Sam for that poem she read at the Skulk and Lurk; I wrote that, so it's not her fault. If I remember correctly, the Skulk and Lurk bookstore appears in _Lucky in Love_ as well as _Double-Cross My Heart_.

ROLE PLAYERS SCARE THE HELL OUT OF FIRESTAR. And that is all I will say about that.

I hope someone's still reading this thing; I feel just plain awful about leaving it alone so long! I wish things were better. As it stands, I'm working four days next week on the sales floor….yikes…..:F

Next chapter: Things (hopefully) start to come together.


	5. Something's Started Crazy

**Author's Introduction:**

This chapter, which I'm more than happy to finally finish and post, goes out with a smile to all the people, both here and on DeviantART, who showed me by their reviews, comments, and other well-wishes that they were just as interested in seeing how this story turned out as I was. Thank you all so much—it does my heart so good to hear such nice things! I'm so glad you're all having fun with this. I am, too!

I've got two more fanart sketches burning a hole in my brain, but Shibby-One's wicked art pieces for "Addict" and "Ordinary World" made me hyper to dive back into this. Her art is fabulous, and I command you to go look at it when you are through with this chapter.

http://www. deviantart. com / deviation / 43615219 /

Go! I command you!

Have another fic percolating in my head, too, for when this is done. But not, not, not before this one is finished!

Chapter five, locked, loaded, done!

* * *

**_Eye of the Beholder _**

_A Danny Phantom fanfiction

* * *

_

**Chapter Five: Something's Started Crazy**

_Something's started crazy—_

_Sweet and unknown. _

_Something you keep _

_In a box on the street— _

_Now it's longing for a home. _

_And who can say what dreams are? _

_Wake me in time to be lonely and sad. _

_And who can say what we are? _

_This is the season for dreaming…_

**(_The Guilty Ones_, from _Spring Awakening_, music by D. Sheik, lyrics by S. Sater) **

* * *

"Oh, Danny, I don't know," Sam said.

"Please, Sam. You'll like it. I promise," Danny cajoled. "How long have we known each other and we've never done this?"

"It's so big," she said, almost a whisper.

"You'll be fine." He grinned wickedly at her. "Just put your lips together and suck as hard as you can."

A smile crept across her lips. "…Okay. But I want you to know, I wouldn't do this with just anybody."

"Why do you think we came here? I wanted to share something special with you." Turning in his chair, Danny called to a waiter and held up two fingers. " 'Scuse me! Can we get a vanilla please? Two straws?" He turned to Sam. "Butterscotch?"

She licked her lips, sending a spark through his veins. "Yes, please."

Danny glanced over at the carvings on the Nasty Burger table as the shake was brought to them. According to the menu, it was a "bottomless" shake, which could be ordered in any flavor and topped with any kind of candy you wanted. No one had ever finished one by themselves, but a lot of people had gotten very sick trying.

They each unwrapped the paper from their straws in silence, like duelists selecting rapiers. Their gazes locked as they slid the straws through the thick butterscotch and vanilla blend.

"Ready?" Danny asked. "Set?"

Sam grinned.

"Go, go, go!"

They attacked the shake, Sam's bangs touching his forehead, giggling around the straws. Their noses brushed as they fought for butterscotch.

Snaking a hand towards the large glass, Danny tried to pinch Sam's straw between his thumb and forefinger.

Sam squeaked an exclamation around her straw, whacking at Danny's forearm. He was glad he'd changed clothes—not into a suit, as he'd teased Sam, but into a newer pair of jeans and a darker, long-sleeved shirt. The cotton was absorbing most of the impact.

"Sam. Sam!" he laughed, shocked and pleased by her aggression, and then suddenly the game was over and he was just looking at her. She was…_giggling_.

Sam rarely giggled. Her laughter had run alongside his entire life like a soundtrack—a carbonated sound when she was excited; dark, dark chocolate when she was content. But this sugary giggle was new; her eyes sparkling and her nose wrinkling over her smile. If he hadn't thought she'd kill him for saying it, he would have called it _cute_.

The smile faded slowly as she noticed him gazing into her eyes. A thoughtful expression overtook her, and she leaned in close. The unexpected intimacy of it startled Danny; they'd only been so close a handful of times, but now he was standing on the edge of those eyes without warning and there was no imminent danger to break the moment, no magic love spell to tell him what to do. His heart sputtered and stalled as their breath mingled. Sam's lashes drooped over her eyes, and she touched her lips—

—to his straw.

Danny's eyes shot wide. "Oh, _no_ you didn't," he said.

She smiled wickedly around the straw. "Mmmmmm," she purred. "Butterscotch."

The sound made his chest tighten with longing. His blood was bubbling with a need to pull her to him, slip his tongue past her lips and taste the butterscotch in her kiss. That smile remained on her face as she released his straw and nudged it to him.

"We don't have to race," she said, almost a whisper. "We can share."

_We have time_, he realized, relaxing. What he felt for Sam was too good to rush, and he knew somehow that all the pieces would fall into place. Till then…

"Mmm," he agreed, smiling at Sam. "Butterscotch."

* * *

The alley behind the Nasty Burger had never seen sunlight. The shadows added to the chill that clung to the bricks and concrete; Tucker half expected someone to come around the corner and offer to sell him the Maltese Falcon from inside their trench coat. As it was, the person meeting him came close.

"Don't you think you're overdoing this?" Tucker asked dryly as Valerie lowered her sunglasses and glared from beneath the bill of her Nasty Burger visor. Her free hand yanked her nylon track jacket a little tighter around her.

"I'm traveling incognito," she hissed. "Do you think I want anyone to see me meeting you in the back alley behind the Nasty Burger like this?"

Tucker's mouth snapped shut. "If I didn't need your help for this, I'd walk out on you right now."

"Need my help for _what_?" Valerie asked, eyes narrowing to suspicious slits. "What's this all about, Foley?"

"It's about my video essay," Tucker admitted, displaying the video camera that was strapped to his hand. "I haven't got a single frame of film that I can use. It's due really soon and I refuse to fail this assignment."

Valerie tossed her head haughtily. "Maybe if you hadn't tried to film _Girls Gone Wild: Foley Style_, you wouldn't be in this situation."

"You make it sound like I got some usable _footage_ out of that incident," Tucker grumbled. "Come on, Val. I'd help _you_!"

Valerie snorted. "No, you wouldn't!"

"What makes you say that?" Tucker asked, genuinely hurt.

"Simple—I'd never get myself into a _mess _like this. How is any of this _my_ problem?" Valerie rolled turquoise eyes. "I had my footage in two _days_. I'm just waiting to get into the editing room!"

Tucker frowned, folding his arms. "Well, pin a rose on _your_ nose."

"You are wasting my time, and it's chilly out here," Valerie complained, crossing her arms over her chest and stamping her feet. "Can you just get on with this?"

"Love," Tucker said.

That got her attention; her turquoise eyes sparked with curiosity.

"I realized that I need to film what I love," Tucker continued, heartened by her expression. "And I can't make a film about what I love without you."

Valerie looked nervous. Incredibly nervous. She even backed up a few steps before the real meaning of what Tucker said hit her. "Wait a minute. You're _kidding_. You are not _serious_ about this, Foley."

"I am dead serious." Quickly, Tucker outlined his plan. Valerie, despite herself, couldn't help looking intrigued, and Tucker picked up on her interest. "Now, are you going to help me or not?"

Unable to deny the steely glance in his pale eyes, Valerie sighed as though it were an effort for her. "All right. I have to close up, you know, sweep the floors and stuff. Do you mind waiting around for a little, and then you can tell me exactly what I have to do to help you?"

Tucker grinned. "I can do better than that."

* * *

"Don't you need a permit to do this?" Valerie asked once they were back inside the restaurant. She was still grasping for a way to talk Tucker out of his plan.

"Yeah, probably," the techno-geek chuckled. "Relax, Val! I've got everything covered." Swinging his backpack off his shoulder, he propped it on one of the empty tables. "Check out my latest, greatest advance in technology."

Valerie's expression grew more and more skeptical as she watched him swap his glasses for another pair he'd had in the backpack. They looked older and a little more beaten-up—a thin crack ran along the curve of the left lens—but the most obvious difference was the bulky cylinder taped haphazardly to one of the earpieces. The cylinder had a wire snaking back into the backpack. "Glasses-cam!" Tucker announced. "How do I look?"

Valerie made an odd noise. "Like you've been assimilated by the Borg. Tucker, no one is going to ignore that thing."

"You are so _negative_," Tucker dismissed her. "I told you, leave everything to me. This time I can't fail."

"What makes you so sure of that?" Valerie turned her back on him, searching in a corner for the broom and dustpan.

Tucker laughed, adjusting the "glasses-cam". "Look, I didn't win the elections for school president in freshman year. The Miss Teenage Happy Princess judging didn't quite work out, and I just got detention for trying to film in the girls' locker room. Probability dictates I'm due for something good!"

Resurfacing with the dustpan, Valerie smiled—a weak smile, but a smile all the same. "Tucker, you _failed _your probability midterm. Remember? Sam had to tutor you so you could pass your final."

Holding up his index finger, Tucker corrected her. "I did not fail my probability midterm. I was in _danger_ of failing my probability midterm. _Danny _failed his probability midterm. Sam was already tutoring him, and it didn't bother her to throw an extra person in."

"_Not_ the point." Valerie threw the dustpan down on the floor. "How can you always be so positive you've got things locked?"

Instead of looking insulted, Tucker grinned. "What kind of optimist would I be if I didn't?" Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, he added, "Nice guys don't always finish last, Val. You watch me. Someday I'll prove it."

Valerie, for her part, only shook her head, but there was a twist to her mouth that almost looked like a smile. "Okay. Wow me, Foley."

"I'm about to." Tucker drew himself up to his full height, then strode to the center of the dining area. "Watch me get a perfect establishing shot."

Since it was so close to closing time, the empty tables were shining clean under low light, setting his scene—except for one table near the back.

A familiar table—

"Danny? Sam?" Tucker adjusted his glasses. "What are they doing here?"

Valerie peered over his shoulder, still holding the broom. "Oh, them? They came in about an hour ago and ordered the biggest shake we had, but they finished it a while back. I think he's just stalling now." The last was said wryly. "Not that she minds being stalled, I'm sure."

Tucker felt mildly sorry for Valerie, at least regarding Danny. She'd given it the old college try, but she'd let her own agenda get in the way. Not that it would have mattered in the end, in Tucker's opinion—Danny and Sam were simply one of those things that was written in stars and catalogued in complicated songs or old books with brittle, fragile pages.

And seeing how happy his best friends looked, quietly ensconced in a corner of their favorite haunt, just pleased to be in each other's company, Tucker couldn't see it as anything other than a good thing.

Still, he felt the need to lighten up the situation and possibly cheer up his brooding companion. "Let's go embarrass them."

Valerie sprang to life, dropping the broomstick. "What? Tucker, _no_."

"Come on! It'll be funny, promise. Besides, don't you want to close up and go home?" He started to drag her by the hand, but she pulled roughly out of his grasp.

"No way. Just because I'm offended by their disgusting moo-moo fluffy bunny love for each other doesn't mean we should embarrass them."

Hiding his laughter at the use of the words "disgusting moo-moo fluffy bunny" to describe anything involving Sam, Tucker silently gave Valerie a point for courtesy. "Okay, okay, but let's go say hello at least."

"I _do_ have to close," Valerie mused, but poked a finger into Tucker's chest. "Don't embarrass them. _Or_ us."

"I promise to be a perfect gentleman." Tucker headed towards the back. Valerie's snort of disbelief alerted Danny and Sam to their presence; it was hard to tell who looked more startled.

"Tucker! What are you doing here?" Danny asked, fingertips playing nervously around the base of an empty glass with two straws poking out of it. Sam's violet eyes were darting from Tucker to Valerie and back again.

"Working out something for my video essay," the techno-geek said smoothly. "Speaking of, wasn't that what you two were supposed to be doing tonight?"

The "psychic connection" between Danny and Sam sparked to life. They actually began a joint explanation.

"Ice cream," Sam said. "Danny wanted to go out for ice cream—"

"She came by," Danny joined in, blushing. "I said, let's go out. You know, she looked so pretty—"

"He said, let's get a shake," she said. "And the next thing you know, it's so—"

"Late. We started late," Danny picked up. "Sam had a thing—"

"It ended early," the goth said, nodding, waving the idea away. "It was lame, anyway—"

And then Danny stopped stammering. His face was very sure as he protested, "Sam! It wasn't lame. You were great."

Valerie and Tucker looked confused—but not nearly as confused as Sam, whose eyebrows were arched and whose lips were working in a way that said she knew Danny had just given away something key, but she wasn't sure what.

Tucker wanted to smack Danny upside the head. Meanwhile, Valerie was insistently jamming her foot down on his—either she wanted to know what was going on, or she wanted to leave. Possibly both.

Helplessly, Sam finished with, "We didn't mean to…get ice cream…behind your back."

Danny's hand had been resting near the salt and pepper shakers; now it jingled. Flipping his keys up like sleight-of-hand, he said, "It's later than I thought actually. I should get Sam home before her family starts to worry. Or puts out another restraining order." Flashing that million-dollar grin, he rose from the booth and gallantly offered his hand to Sam.

The goth took it and pulled herself to her feet. "'Get Sam home'. What are you talking about, Danny? _I_ drove here!"

Suddenly the stammering was over; his friends were their same selves again and the spell was broken. Tucker and Valerie both muffled laughter into their fists, not very quietly. Danny, for his part, took the teasing good-naturedly. "A minor, minor detail, Ms. Manson. Shall we?" He slid his arm through hers.

Waggling his eyebrows, Tucker took his parting shot. "Thought you said you didn't have a date tonight, Sam?"

Danny glared daggers at Tucker; Valerie slammed an elbow into his stomach. Everyone waited for Sam to drop Danny's arm and stammer some excuse or hot retort.

But she didn't do any of that. She glanced down at their intertwined arms, then treated Tucker to a sweet smile that was totally at odds with her sexy outfit. "A lady doesn't kiss and tell, Tuck," she said lightly, then raised her free hand to pat Danny's arm. "Come on, I think you said something about escorting me home."

The expression of flattered delight on Danny's face was so priceless that Tucker fervently hoped his glasses-cam worked. Contrary to what he'd led Valerie to believe, he hadn't quite finished beta-testing it before sending it on this maiden voyage.

When the ghost and the goth were gone, Valerie sank into the side of the booth Sam had been sitting in. "I think I've had enough for one night."

Tucker took Danny's seat. "I'll help you sweep up and stuff."

She angled a turquoise glance at him. "Really?"

He shrugged. "It's the least I can do. I know we argue a lot and I give you tons of crap, but I really appreciate you helping me out with this."

After a minute's consideration, she decided he was sincere and her lips twitched upward in a sort of smile. "That's pretty cool of you."

He treated her to a smile of his own, then tapped his earpiece. "See? What'd I tell you—Danny and Sam didn't even notice my…" He trailed off, his eyes catching sight of something at the far end of the table.

Valerie snorted. "The way they were looking at each other, they weren't noticing _anything_ else."

Tucker had to agree. He'd just found the reason Danny's keys had been out despite the fact that Sam had driven to the restaurant. In the corner of the table, nearly hidden by the salt and pepper shakers, the words _Tucker Rulez_ were still clearly visible. The initials _D.F. _and _S.M._ were still there, too—but someone had spent the evening carving a crooked heart around them.

* * *

Maybe Danny Fenton wasn't the best student in the world, but ever since the accident in the ghost portal, he'd been learning. Learning how to fly, learning how to fight. Learning new strengths, new weaknesses, new abilities.

But now he was thinking of the most important lesson, the one that still sometimes woke him up cold and scared in the middle of the night. Long ago, on a night the stars fell from the sky, he'd learned that life without Sam was empty. Boring. Lonely. Later, in the cozy dark of a movie theater, he'd secretly vowed never to forget that lesson. He kept the fear sharp in his heart, to remind him of that bitter void she'd leave if he lost her, and remade the promise every day, every night. He would not lose her.

_I won't_, he thought fiercely, for the billionth time since that distant blue night. _I promise!_

"You won't what?" Sam asked, trying to keep one eye on the road and one on him.

Blood heated Danny's face as he realized he'd spoken aloud into the quiet of the car.

"Hey," she said, smiling at him. "Are you okay?"

There it was. Another perfect segue in a lifetime of missed opportunities. There were a million ways to start.

_I have to talk to you. _

_Sam, there's something I want to tell you… _

_Sam, I…_

Instead of any of that, he settled back against the passenger seat. "Thanks for coming out with me tonight."

She laughed. "Danny, I always like being with you. You ought to know that after almost two decades."

"I like being with you, too," he said softly. "Don't ever forget that, okay?"

She'd put a jazz station on the radio instead of her omnipresent Nightwish CD. Danny suddenly wanted to tell her to keep driving, to just go anywhere. The windshield was a painting of stars and road in front of them and they could go anywhere, do anything they wanted. He was surprised by the sharp pang of disappointment in his heart when she navigated the Mustang to the curb in front of Fentonworks.

She turned off the engine, but left the keys in the ignition swinging shiny, then dull, then shiny in the light; she didn't say goodbye or make the movements associated with the end of an evening. She just settled back against her seat, making herself comfortable as he had done.

The car felt unbelievably safe to Danny. There was no one but the two of them, wrapped in dark and silence and warmth.

"Thank you for the shake," Sam said softly. "I was just teasing about you paying for it."

Danny smiled at her. "Don't be silly. I asked you out, so I paid. If it makes you feel better, you can pay when you ask me out."

Her smile was a beacon in the dark of the car. "Deal."

He chuckled, glancing out the window. "So you had fun, even though we didn't get attacked by ghosts, chased by demon animals, or critically injured?"

Both of her hands clamped around one of his with the speed of a striking snake, startling him. "Did you hear me before? _Always_."

Danny's breath hitched at the excitement of the unexpected touch, the way her eyes were shining with a frenzied light in the dark of the car—that ferocious love, that shining attention, focused intently on him, just him. Dreamily, he raised his free hand and closed it over hers, squeezing a little. He wanted to kiss her—how he wanted to kiss her.

"Always…" he whispered back. It wasn't a question.

Sam brought his hand to her mouth. Eyes closing, she smacked her lips against it in three exaggerated kisses.

Danny blushed to his toes.

"Always," Sam repeated. "Okay?"

A flicker at the edge of the night got both their attention—the porch light flashing on, then off, then on again.

Sam turned her head, the light strobing over her amused expression. "Think it's your mom? Or your dad?"

"If Jazz wasn't at college, I'd say it was her." Danny frowned at the door, appearing and disappearing in the blink of the light. "Who do they think I am? Greg Brady?"

Her laugh was a surprised burst of sound in the small space. "Better get inside then, before they think…_something_!"

Danny's mind raced deliciously with what kind of "something" could involve the two of them in a car late at night. But he reached for the door handle with a sigh. Their "date" was over.

"Good night," she whispered, blushing.

"Call you tomorrow," he answered, feeling so awkward, his body protesting at the thought of leaving her.

After she'd driven away and he couldn't see the Mustang's taillights anymore, he could still feel the ghost of her kiss on his hand. Even when he thought the night was over, she still managed to surprise him. A good-night kiss—sort of. He smiled.

The porch light was still flashing on and off, like an alarm call. "She's _gone_ already," he spat as he fumbled for his keys. "You can stop doing that now."

The door swung open, and he stared down the barrel of a very unfriendly-looking laser rifle. A high-pitched whine signaled its warming-up, and Danny had barely two seconds to dive sideways off the stoop.

Sam's kiss was erased by the scratch of concrete at his face and hands. Sky and street blurred into a pinwheel as he rolled. Over the blood pounding in his ears, he heard a voice call, "Come out here and fight like a man, ghost!"

Danny spoke from behind his arms, which he was using to cover his face in case the laser misfired. Unbelievably, he was starting to get used to being accidentally threatened with weapons by members of his family. He made sure his words were loud and clear, so that his father wouldn't blast him before he was through explaining. "It's _Danny_, Dad. Danny. I was out with Sam. Put the rifle down please?"

Danny felt one of his father's huge hands on the back of his neck, as if he were hauling a puppy up by its scruff. "_Danny_? What are you doing out here, son?"

Relaxing at the sight of Jack's grin, Danny repeated, "I was out with Sam. Don't flicker the porch light when you want me to come in, okay? It's embarrassing."

"Porch light?" Jack Fenton lowered the laser rifle, pushing his goggles up to his forehead and swinging a confused glance from his son to the light. His face nearly split in a grin. "This isn't a porch light, Danny, it's my new alarm system! It's supposed to flash on and off when a ghost approaches the house!" Then his brow furrowed once again. "Darn thing doesn't seem to work, though, it had me thinking _you_ were a ghost. Lousy addle-circuited…"

Abandoning the laser rifle in favor of a screwdriver, Jack turned back to a plate installed near the front door, muttering curses of his own invention until a thought struck him. Turning abruptly, he halted Danny's attempt to sneak past him into the house. "Danny, it's nearly midnight. What are you doing out this late?"

Danny blushed and cursed himself for it. There was nothing to be ashamed of—but somehow, even just the memory of Sam's arm brushing his as she shifted the Mustang's gears, the scent of her in the enclosed space, the feeling of her lips on his skin…it overheated his blood and made him grin like a fool. Unable to help shuffling his feet before his father, he explained. "I took Sam out for ice cream, Dad. Mom knew where we were—she saw us leave. I just…lost track of time, you know?" He cringed and waited for judgment.

But Jack just smiled, his eyes softening as he gazed into a middle distance. "I never look at the clock when I'm with Maddie, either."

The two Fenton men shared a smile, and for the first time, Danny didn't feel the need to correct his father about Sam. Despite the functional insanity of the Fenton household, Danny secretly knew that his parents had a love that few people managed to find in their lifetime. Jack bumbled and stumbled and forgot every birthday, every anniversary, but he loved his Maddie more than anything in the world, and everyone knew it. Danny _wanted_ Jack to think he'd taken Sam out on a date—wanted his father to think that he had something special, too.

Patting his son's shoulder in an unnaturally gentle manner, Jack winked. "Don't make too much noise on the way to your room. There's no need for your mother to worry that you're not in yet."

Danny hurried into the house and up the stairs, grateful not only that he wasn't in trouble for missing curfew, but that he'd escaped the laser rifle yet again.

* * *

The captive lay down, unable to weep, feeling as though he were freezing from the inside out. Sometimes he would dream, and he would see sunlight and feel the ground beneath his feet; but wakefulness would dispel that and tighten his chest with the wanting. He would return to pacing his prison. Desperate to escape these tantalizing phantasms, he would forgo sleep for as long as possible; his eyes burned and his head ached with strain.

He could feel himself giving up. Every time his eyes slid closed, he would hope they did not open again.

* * *

When Danny had been younger, he'd curled beneath his sheets with a flashlight and many a _Crimson Chin_ comic book, letting action and adventure lull him to sleep. This was slightly different.

Now, he lay beneath the covers, the light from the digital screen of the video camera eliminating the need for a flashlight. He kept the volume low, afraid someone might hear and wonder why he was watching the footage he'd taken of Sam, over and over again.

He had an idea that he liked for the beginning and the end of the video, but it involved being in Sam's room—not just outside her window but _in_ her room. He wasn't sure he'd be able to sneak in and out, even if he _were_ intangible. She had this way of noticing him, even in the air around her.

A smile curved his lips at the thought. For years, there had been a joke about a "psychic connection" between himself and Sam. Danny knew better. She was simply sensitive to him, attuned to him like no one else; and he to her. He liked that…

His lashes drooped over his eyes, Sam's voice speaking her poem to him again as he drifted off.

_"They do not come, not sleep, not love, not he I want_…"

He would come to her, if only she would want it, he lamented silently. He'd keep her up all night with the touch of his hands, lull her to sleep with kisses, promise her over and over how happy he'd make her…

…if only she would want it.

* * *

Valerie worked at the Nasty Burger, so naturally she was much too smart to eat anything that came out of its kitchen. Unfortunately, she also worked the early shift on weekends, and she rarely got a chance to eat a decent breakfast before she left the house, so she spent the majority of the morning shift starving.

Which was why Tucker won a lot of points by showing up with a bacon and cheese bagel before the restaurant opened.

"I can_not_ believe that you are awake before six AM," she muttered, her feet dragging as she approached the cheery techno-geek.

Tucker smiled. "Here, catch."

He tossed her a foil-wrapped something and she barely had time to reach up to grab it out of the air. The scent of real meat tickled her nose. "Ooh."

"Enjoy it, because we've got a lot of work to do today," Tucker warned. "You sure you're up for this?"

Valerie's smirk was wicked. "Bring it on, Foley."

"It has been _brought_, Gray."

Together, the two marched into the Nasty Burger.

Five hours later, Tucker came flying back out the double doors. His camera followed, thunking squarely down on his head, then clattering to a stop at his side. Luckily for him, the footage it held was not too damaged to edit and hand in…

* * *

All day Danny wondered how to get his establishing shots for the beginning and end of his film. His idea was simple—in fact, it was his lie that had helped him come up with it.

He'd told Sam that the videos were about the subject's daily routine, which wasn't true, but he more he thought about it, the more he actually liked the idea. Sam was beautiful; she made the most ordinary day special just by waking up in it. It might be interesting to start the video with her waking up and ending with her falling asleep. It was sort of clichéd, which meant that Lancer—the king of clichés and the worshipful sycophant of all things stereotypical—would lap it up like cream.

The only problem was that he didn't know how to obtain the shots. Waiting outside her window with a zoom lens wouldn't work a second time. He didn't want the video to start looking like a creepy stalker's diary. He'd need to be _inside_ her room to get the angles he wanted and give the viewers the feeling that they were close to Sam, the way he felt so close to her. But if he just phased through the wall, Sam would definitely notice his presence.

Finally, late that night, he decided to just go for it. He _had_ to wrap up his footage. The class had been in and out of the editing labs for the past week, and they'd only have three days left to work. Thursday and Friday of the next week the projects were being screened. Lancer had hinted that the order would be random, and woe betide the student who wasn't ready when their name was called.

And although Danny would never admit it to himself, a small, secret part of him—the part of him that came to bright life as Danny Phantom and feared no evil—almost hoped that Sam would catch him. Then maybe she'd ask questions, back him into a corner until he'd be forced to admit even part of the truth.

* * *

Danny could never be labeled a goth, but he still really liked Sam's room. He wasn't sure if he liked it just for the fun of the outlandish décor, or because it was _hers_.

Despite his love for outer space, Danny had been afraid of the dark as a child. Granted, he'd been afraid of a _lot_ of things despite himself—ghosts being first and foremost, no matter how many anti-ghost weapons his parents had showed him (or nearly blasted him with). But Sam had loved the dark, had run to greet it with arms open wide, and through her, slowly, Danny had learned that there was nothing to fear. Sam had taught him that the shadows promised safety, and stars couldn't be seen in the harsh light of day. Sam's room was a constant reminder of that lesson, a softly lit haven of quiet night.

And it was _hers_. She slept there and dreamed there and everything in it held the scent of sugar and spice that belonged to her.

He felt a little pang of guilt as he went intangible and slid through the wall. He loved Sam's room and hated the idea of sneaking into it like a thief.

He needn't have worried. In fact, Sam didn't even notice the slight chill that accompanied his presence; she was preoccupied.

She had her back to the wall he phased through; she was pulling a black fishnet shirt on over a skimpy black camisole and a black skirt. He felt simultaneously relieved and disappointed that he hadn't caught her in a more severe state of undress. As he watched, she threw a worn black backpack onto her bed. The flaps were frayed, and Danny could see the darker lines of new stitching where it had been repaired in places.

_Hello,_ he thought, hovering over Sam's shoulder as she headed for her dresser and opened the bottom drawer. _What is she doing?_

Danny smiled as he dodged sexy miniskirts and flirty camisoles, but when she resurfaced with a first-aid kit, a fleecy blanket, a Swiss Army knife and a large pair of wire-clippers, the situation seemed decidedly less funny.

All those items went into the bag. Next, Sam walked across the room to the possession that Danny was probably the most jealous of—her mini-fridge. Given her parents' prolonged campaign to force her to wear pink and be cheerful, Sam was often besieged in her room for long periods of time, saved from starvation by the well-stocked appliance.

But the things in the plastic container she took out of the fridge were definitely not edible. He was not afraid to lean over her shoulder in the chill of the open door, so he was close enough to see her open the lid and examine the contents—grasshoppers. They were decidedly…dead.

Sam, his precious, ultra-recyclo-vegetarian, hated-PETA-because-people-were-animals-too, love-for-all-living-things Sam, was not the kind of person who kept dead things in her refrigerator.

In the time it took Danny to get very very nervous, Sam had put everything into the backpack and started downstairs.

Her parents were reading at opposite ends of the living room; Mr. Manson was settled in an armchair with _The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People_ while Mrs. Manson was posture-perfect on the sofa with a women's magazine. Danny didn't like the look of it; a big brightly-colored feature on the cover read "This Month's Quiz: Why Your Daughter Dates Dummies". They didn't even seem to notice Sam, so Danny wondered why she lingered in the entryway, calling attention to herself. She even went so far as to announce, "I'm going out," but her voice was flat, as if she wasn't expecting a reaction.

And she didn't get one. There were a few murmurs from her parents, but neither looked up from their literature. Sam rolled her eyes and continued into the foyer while Danny Phantom treated the Mansons to an invisible frown. He didn't care for Sam's parents, who fluctuated between ignoring their daughter and trying to change her.

Before he could rattle the table lamps to give them a well-deserved scare, the purr of a Rascal announced the arrival of Sam's grandmother, who maneuvered her motorized chair skillfully in front of the front door to block Sam's escape. "Not so fast, bubuleh," the old woman laughed. "Where are we off to tonight?"

Sam glanced back at the living room, then lowered her voice excitedly. "Secret mission, Grandma. I just needed some cover of darkness."

Sam's grandmother grinned, and Danny saw for a moment a younger, more vibrant woman, who'd probably spent her youth raging against her own machines. He smiled. He liked Sam's grandmother, who seemed to be the only member of Sam's family who loved Sam just the way she was. She was also the only member of Sam's family who _didn't _think he was a bad influence on Sam.

"Do you have everything you need?" Sam's grandmother asked.

Danny waited for Sam to lie, but instead the goth ticked everything off on her fingers. "Yup. Wire clippers, first aid kit, blanket, knife. Oh, and some grasshoppers."

"Gloves, Sam. You'll hurt your hands without them," Sam's grandmother said sagely.

"Oh! Good idea!" Sam headed for the coat rack and fished in the pocket of her father's coat, coming up with a pair of leather gloves. Unlike the well-used backpack or the blanket, which was starting to get pilly and worn, the gloves looked expensive and Danny had to wonder for the fiftieth time what she intended to do with them. They dwarfed her small hands as she slipped them on.

"Now you're ready." Sam's grandmother grinned, proud of her warrior granddaughter. "Be careful, Sammy. I want a full report when you get back."

"Aye aye, ma'am." Sam leaned over and kissed her grandmother. Satisfied with the inspection, the old woman moved the Rascal out of the way to let Sam out the door. The goth hurried into the night, and the ghost boy followed.

* * *

The captive raised his head to the sound of footsteps. Something was coming. His muscles were tense as it stepped through the funnel of light under a streetlamp and he could see who it was.

Well, not _who _it was. But he could see that it was a big animal, bigger than him. She was moving the way he moved, covering ground in small, short bursts, taking advantage of cover when she found it. The fur on her head was dark and shining, and her eyes were bright and intense even in the dim light. She was quick on her paws, and he barely got to the back of his prison before she reached the mesh that kept him inside. She was too big to squeeze even a paw through the mesh, so he took advantage of his momentary safety to study her.

The sudden chill had the big animal shivering, but that was to be expected when the silly thing only had fur on her head and nowhere else. She examined the mesh with small, thin paws; her funny black claws scratched at the hinges.

The captive wondered if he should try to get her attention, but his voice was weak from days of being trapped. He couldn't even remember what he sounded like anymore.

His thoughts were interrupted by the girl's soft laugh. "Hey there. It's okay. I'm here to help you."

She had big eyes, the color of an hour after sunset. He took a tentative step towards her, the better to scent her with. They stared at each other for just a second and a moment of recognition passed between them.

* * *

Despite being able to fly and phase through solid objects, Danny had had a hard time keeping up with Sam on her errand. She covered ground like a thief—he'd hardly been able to believe it when she'd cleared the park fence in three smooth movements, miniskirt, pack on her back and all.

He stood by, a silent, invisible guardian, as she found what she was looking for in the shadows of the trees—a small cage with a captive animal inside, a small roly-poly bundle of dark fur. It took him a minute to recognize what it was in the mesh and shadows, but a few blinks revealed it to be a badger.

Kneeling at the trap, Sam quickly unpacked her bag. She spread the blanket on the ground, the clippers on top of it. She set the small plastic container with the grasshoppers in it to one side, opened it, and slipped one through the wide gaps in the mesh.

Danny blinked. She'd given this jailbreak a lot of thought. He fumbled with the camera as he brought it up and focused it; he'd nearly forgotten he had it.

"These traps are supposed to be _humane_," Sam muttered. Danny hoped the camera's microphone could pick up her voice. He could understand her disgust--there didn't seem to be much that was humane about a wire cage with a hinged door. The little guy was stuck for good until someone came to let him out. Unfortunately, that someone was probably going to be Animal Control, armed with a sweet syringe of murder for him.

The animal appeared sulky, its eyes watching Sam as she worked, snub of a muzzle quivering as it scented the air. It advanced tentatively towards the proffered treat.

Sam was examining the trap. Apparently it closed with twine, so the clippers were unnecessary, but it didn't matter. She had the knife. She was careful as she sawed through the twine; the door rattled as she slid it up.

The badger cowered at the back of the enclosure; not a surprise, being that animals under his present circumstances were usually set free by men with a shotgun and a body bag. Sam offered him another grasshopper.

"C'mere," she said sweetly. "Door's open. See? You're free!"

The badger took another ambling step on its blunt paws.

"All better now," Sam sang, offering the rest of the grasshoppers. "C'mere, little one…"

The badger stuck its head out of the trap, then two front footpaws. It ate the remaining grasshoppers almost daintily, then rewarded its savior with a bite on her leather-gloved hand.

Before Sam had time to shriek anything else but "Oh! Oh!", Danny had dropped the camera and leapt forward, grabbing the badger in two ghostly hands. Glove and badger phased off of Sam; as soon as Danny placed it back on the ground, the animal snuffled and waddled off into the trees.

And just like that, the night was still again, save for the sound of Sam's labored breathing.

She held her uninjured hand up in front of her face, staring at it in confusion. Her eyes bounced to where the badger had disappeared and reappeared before escaping, then to the empty cage, and finally to the camera. As soon as Danny had dropped it, it had ceased being intangible and was now lying tellingly on the ground, the RECORD light still blinking.

Slowly, carefully, Sam crawled over to the camera. Then she laughed, picking up the camera and panning around the area, as if searching for him. "Well, you can come _out_ now."

Danny groaned as he came into view. "_Busted_."

"_Totally_ busted!" Sam laughed. "How long have you been there?"

Danny squinted miserably. "Tonight or in general?"

"I _knew_ it," Sam cried triumphantly. "You _have_ been following me around."

The synapses in Danny's brain froze. "How do _you_ know that?"

She laughed. "Please! Danny, you suck at keeping secrets. Except the big one, of course," she said, with a sweep of her hand to indicate his ghost form. "You knew exactly how many hours I spent fixing my dress for home ec class. And when I said my mysterious 'thing' sucked, you told me I was great. Don't tell me you sat through that _whole_ poetry slam just to see me recite."

Danny had to chuckle at the memory of some of the poems at the Skulk and Lurk. "Some of those _were_ pretty terrible," he admitted.

"_All_ of them were terrible!" Sam giggled.

Danny shut off the camera, which had still been recording, and closed the digital screen. "Not yours, Sam. I'm serious. And I'm not just saying that because you're my friend. I liked your poem—and everyone else there did, too."

Sam was still laughing, cradling her head in her hand. "I can't believe you went to that poetry slam! You're really serious about this project."

"More than you'll ever know," he said, and the calm conviction in his voice made her look up.

She moved close to him, looking suddenly concerned. "Hey. Are you okay?"

He didn't answer, simply reached for her ungloved hand, running his fingers gently over her pale skin. "Did it hurt you?"

She shook her head. Then she laughed. "At first, I wasn't sure what happened when it disappeared and reappeared again!"

"Good thing your dad's gloves were a little too big on you," he said, sliding the other glove off her hand and handing it to her.

She took the glove and sashayed over to her backpack. "You've been super-duper snooper for the last few days, haven't you?" she asked as she found the other glove and repacked her tools and blanket.

Danny sighed. "So how angry _are_ you?"

Sam looked confused. "Angry? I'm not. Why?" Her face darkened. "Should I be?"

"No!" Danny amended quickly. "No, no. I just—it's just that every time I tried to tape, you said _hello_ to me!"

Sam laughed. "Well, I _have_ been pretty bad with that. No wonder every time I asked you how your footage was coming along, you found a way to distract me with ice cream or something."

Danny sighed and looked down at his feet. Time to ask the question that was hanging over their heads. "So you're not angry that I spied on you?"

All she said was, "When do I get to see this video?"

He smiled. "Soon as I get it into the editing room and fix it up. But there's a few more shots I want. Now that I don't have to play stalkerazzi anymore, maybe you can help me with them?"

Sam's eyes twinkled. "What's your idea?"

Briefly, he outlined it for her, and she agreed wholeheartedly that Lancer would love something so overdone. Danny had to smile at her excitement.

"I can't wait to see what kind of grade you get on this," she said, leading him towards the fence and settling her backpack on her back to make the climb easier. Then she turned around. "You know, I never even thanked you," she said.

"For what?" Danny asked, confused.

"For letting me help you with this project. It's so much fun," she said.

Fun? Danny had expected her to be furious with him for invading her privacy and spying on her. "Fun" was a better reaction than he could ever have hoped for.

"Uh…you're welcome?"

Damn it, damn it, damn it! Nothing cool would come out of his mouth. Why couldn't he be charming or witty or—or just not a loser?!

Sam turned back to the fence, preparing herself for the climb, and then he knew exactly what to say. He reached for her hand, pulling her gently back towards him.

"How about I take you home?" he whispered.

She drew back a little, her smile shy. "Okay."

Letting go of her hand, he pulled carefully on the worn strap of her backpack, tugging it down her arm. At her confused expression, he just pressed the backpack into her hands and said, "Hold this."

He'd flown with Sam before, their hands clasped tight as he led the way, feeling lighter than air not just because of ghost powers. But this time he lifted her into a threshold position, watched her blush deepen as she relaxed in his arms.

They didn't say anything the whole way back, but he was content just carrying her close to his chest, a beacon of heat next to his heart.

* * *

Although he'd often lost himself in fantasies of it, Danny had never thought he'd really be this close to one of Sam's black silky nightgowns.

"Stop _throwing _them at me," he said, trying to force the right amount of fake irritation into his voice and glad the soft material hid his pleased expression. He sat on Sam's floor surrounded by all sorts and conditions of female artifacts—silky things, satiny things, fluffy things, soft things.

"Darn it. Where are my black…?" Sam cried from somewhere inside her bureau.

"It's not a fashion shoot, Sam. You'll be under the covers anyway!" Danny said, eyes widening at something with thin black straps and a red, fuzzy trim that draped itself over the knee of his jeans. "Ooh, what about this furry one?"

Sam stopped tossing silky and satiny things at him and gave him an odd look. "Give me that," she said brusquely, snatching the soft gown from him and muttering something that sounded like, "I don't even know why I bought this one."

Returning to the drawer, she suddenly seemed to find what she was looking for. "Aha!" She threw a bundle of clothes into her adjoining bathroom, then set about picking up everything she'd thrown from the bureau. Danny watched her whisk purple satin and black silk out of his vision, and then the floor was clean again and she'd disappeared into the bathroom.

"You'd better not be putting on makeup," he warned through the door. "I want this to look at least a _little_ believable."

Sam opened the door, laughing. "Will you relax? What did you think I was going to do, put on eyeshadow?"

Danny chuckled nervously, gaze sweeping appraisingly from her now-loose hair and her scrubbed face to her purple camisole and black pants. He'd been afraid his heart would fail if she'd put on some of the things that had come from her bureau. "You look nice," he said, hating his voice for how scratchy it sounded.

"No, I don't." She tiptoed past him on tiny bare feet to her bed, slipping through the split in the canopy to slide beneath the covers. Laying her head down on her dark pillowcase, she blinked at him and said, "How is this?"

Danny's knees weakened at how sweet she looked. He knelt at the bedside. "Let me just…" He played with the canopy a bit, pushing it away from Sam's hand on the bedclothes, pulling the other side around so it would be in the shot near her head. He blinked down at her a few times, then tilted his head, considering.

"What?" Sam asked softly. "What is it?"

"Lift your head," he said thoughtfully. "Just a little." When she did, he reached for her. "Can I just…?" and then his hands were in her hair. He could feel the heat of her blush as he spread her hair on the pillow as gently as he could. "There," he said finally.

"Good?" she asked hopefully.

He smiled and nodded. "Perfect. Okay, keep your eyes open until I tell you to close them, okay?"

She giggled. " 'Good night, noises everywhere'," she quoted with a giggle.

Danny had to laugh too, even as he scolded her. "_Stop_ it. Be serious!"

Sam tried to school her face into a serious expression. "Okay. Okay. How's this?" Then she burst into giggles again.

"Sa-a-a-am," Danny whined. "You've got to calm down or this won't look natural. Okay?"

She was still grinning. "I'm so sorry, Danny. Maybe you should have kept on spying on me!"

Danny racked his brain. There had to be a way to get her to stop laughing. "What relaxes you, Sam?"

Sam squinted at him. "What?"

"Keep your eyes open and just bear with me, okay?" Danny asked. "What makes you feel relaxed?"

"You're really getting into this director thing, aren't you?" Sam smiled mischievously.

Danny smiled back. "Humor me, Sam. Please."

She gave it some thought. "The last time I felt really relaxed was when we went stargazing out on the ridge, under the big oak."

Danny smiled, remembering that night. It _had _been nice. He said, "Okay, look at the camera and just think of that night, okay? We're out under the oak, and I've got my telescope. And Tucker's not even paying attention; he's got out his PDA and he's not even looking up."

Sam's lashes were flickering over her big violet eyes. Danny flipped the digital screen open and pressed RECORD.

"We are, though," Danny continued softly. "We're looking up. There's just a little bit of a breeze, but it's clear. So many stars in the sky, remember, Sam?"

Her eyes were closed now, a little smile on her lips.

"Perfect!" Danny said, snapping the screen shut. "That was great, Sam. You were perfect."

She didn't answer him, simply sighed and settled further down onto the pillow.

"Sam?" Danny said. "Did you hear me?"

No answer from the girl in the bed save soft, slow breathing.

He waved a hand carefully before her closed eyes, unable to believe she'd really fallen asleep. But she looked far too sweet to be playing a trick on him.

"Be back tomorrow morning, like we said," he whispered finally, wishing he could touch her hair again, stroke a gentle finger down her face. Instead, he whispered, "Good night, Sam," and left the room the way he'd entered—an invisible ghost.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

**"The Guilty Ones"** replaced _"There Once Was a Pirate"_ in Duncan Sheik and Steven Sater's Broadway musical, _Spring Awakening_, based on Frank Wedekind's play of the same name. The play started off-Broadway in the Atlantic Theater, then went to the Eugene O'Neill theater on Broadway. I'm slightly obsessed with this play; I've seen it eight or nine times, all but one of those times seated on the stage as scenery. The music, thank the seasons, can be found on its original cast recording, which finally went on sale in December of 2006.

**The bottomless shake **is not on the Nasty Burger menu in canon. There's an ice cream shoppe near my home called Jahn's, and everyone who's ever lived anywhere even _near_ my den knows of it. They serve a massive sundae called "The Kitchen Sink" which can be shared comfortably among ten to twelve people and was the inspiration for the bottomless shake Danny shares with Sam. Jahn's used to be open very late and would never throw any guest out to close, but they do have a closing time of one or two AM now. I can say with absolute conviction that it is solely the fault of me and my former pack, who would stay till three or four in the morning. But that was a long time ago. Also, it's hard for me to tell whether the Nasty Burger is more of a fast-food joint or a diner—I prefer the latter; I have a deep love for all-night diners, and we have indeed seen table service at the Nasty Burger (_Flirting With Disaster_).

**The Crimson Chin**, as all good Butch Hartman fans ought to know, is **Timmy Turner's **superhero idol. He's voiced by Jay Leno, a fact which always cracks me up.

**On PETA:** I love animals. I'd consider myself an animal-rights activist. I don't eat meat or poultry. But I _hate_ PETA—they're not pro-animal, they're anti-_human_! And that's not right either. And this isn't the last time I'm going to jab at them in this story. It's going to get worse.

**"Why Your Daughter Dates Dummies"**: This is a homage to one of my very favorite movies ever, **_Ginger Snaps_**. As Ginger begins to turn into a werewolf, her cheerfully oblivious mother thinks the changes in her daughter are due to puberty. In one scene, the mother is upstairs in bed reading a magazine and remarks to her husband, "Here it is. 'Why Your Daughter Dates Dummies'. I'm so glad I hung on to this." Meanwhile, Ginger and her unwilling accomplice, baby sister Bridgitte, drag a dead body through the yard below.

I hate **badger traps**. In fact, I hate all animal traps. I actually researched the badger traps on an Irish web site, then was so depressed by the descriptions of the trapping and killing of badgers that I had to go cheer myself up at What Badgers Eat . com, based on that episode of _The Simpsons_ where a badger takes refuge in Santa's Little Helper's doghouse. Go play! It's fun.

**"Good night noises everywhere"**: Sam is quoting a popular children's book entitled _Goodnight Moon_.

**Stargazing**: I love how Danny loves the stars and outer space. Upon winning a DeviantART contest and being awarded a request, I asked for a picture of Danny stargazing or being with his friends, doing anything where he is happy and content. I was more than pleased with the beautiful result I was given, which can be found **here**: http// www. deviantart. com / deviation / 47186092 /

Everyone who fell for the innuendos at the beginning, shame on you. (snickers behind a paw.)

This chapter took forever, and I am so sorry for the delay. But I am still working, and I laugh my fool head off while writing the notes for chapter six. Again I must thank all the readers for their interest in my li'l story, and my awesome best friend Cloudy who betas for me because no one else can stand my constant edits. XD

**Next chapter:** Mr. Lancer finds himself in a jam and looks to an unlikely source for help, the tables turn on Paulina, and the screening of the video essays finally begins, starting with Dash's epic film on what he finds most beautiful.

And as for what happened during those hours Tucker and Valerie were filming in the Nasty Burger…yeah, that's in there, too.


	6. Is There Something I Should Know

**Author's Introduction:**

Yup, still writing. And making notes for the fic to follow this one. Yup, still doing it.

Going to keep writing, keep drawing. You watch me. Just watch me.

* * *

_**Eye of the Beholder**_

_A Danny Phantom fanfiction

* * *

_

**Chapter Six: Is There Something I Should Know**

_There's a dream that strings the road  
__With broken glass for us to hold  
__And I cut so far before I had to say  
__Please, please tell me now  
__Is there something I should know  
__Is there something I should say  
__That'll make you come my way  
__Do you feel the same, cause you don't let it show_

**(_Is There Something I Should Know_, Duran Duran)

* * *

**

Beautiful.

Dawn had lightened the sky to pale buttermilk over Amity Park. A lark serenaded the trees from its perch in a tall ash. Below, a badger's blunt footpaws churned the soil as it returned to its den. It was a beautiful morning.

* * *

Sam's cell phone shivered on the night table, ringing her alarm—the first few bars of Ministry's "Every Day Is Halloween". 

With a sorrowful sound, the goth thrust a pale hand through the filmy dark of her canopy, slapping around until she knocked the phone off the night table. It stopped ringing, and she stuck her head sleepily out to look for it, covering a dainty yawn with her hand. Hair tousled, long lashes blinking, she glanced around the dim room.

"_Cut_!" someone yelled triumphantly. "That was _perfect_!"

Sam shrieked, eyes opening wide as she retreated back behind the flimsy safety of her canopy.

"Sam, wait—" The intruder thrust the canopy open without thinking and immediately received a black, faux-fur pillow to the face. "_Ow_!"

"_Danny_!" Sam hissed, the events of last night coming back to her as she dropped the pillow. "You _scared _me," she added, frowning at him.

He chuckled. "That's what I _do_. Hel_lo_, ghost boy?"

She swung the pillow again, but he ducked it. Further conversation was interrupted by the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps and a call of "Samantha?"

"It's my mom," Sam gasped. "Quick, Danny—"

She'd turned to call a warning to empty air.

"—hide?"

Just in time. Mrs. Manson burst into the room without knocking as was her custom. Despite the early hour, she was fully dressed and coiffed beyond all sense, drifting into the room on a cloud of Chanel no. 5. "I heard you scream, Samantha! What's wrong, sweetheart?"

Sam was already trying to shepherd her mother back out the door. "Nothing, Mom. I had that bad dream about being crowned prom queen again. Get out. I have to get ready for school."

"Sammykins, darling, you'd make a _lovely_ prom queen!" Mrs. Manson's empty eyes bounced around the room as she turned this way and that, skirt swinging like a bell with her as the clapper. Sam followed her mother's glance nervously, but if a ghost boy was good at anything, it was hiding. Danny was nowhere to be seen.

"I'm fat, Mom," Sam threw out as a last desperate measure. "Don't look at me. Get out."

Mrs. Manson clucked her tongue as she allowed her daughter to push her out of the room. "Samantha, you are certainly _not_ fat. You're beautiful! You're perfect—"

"Get _out_," Sam roared, slamming the door.

She didn't relax until she heard her mother's footsteps fade out at the end of the hall. Running a hand through her hair and sighing, she pushed the canopy aside and sat down on the bed.

Invisible fingers feathered against her sides and she squeaked, jumping. "_Stop_ that."

Danny chuckled as he turned visible again, revealing himself to be stretched out on her bed. Instead of obeying, he tickled her lightly again, laughing as she squirmed. "You're _not_ fat, you know."

Sam snorted, trying absently to push his hands away. "She's so full of it."

"You're beautiful." Danny mimicked Mrs. Manson, but instead of a condescending sing-song, his voice was a soft, serious purr. His fingers danced over Sam's ribs, still trying to tickle her sensitive sides. "You're perfect…"

Frowning, she pushed him so that he rolled off the bed with an exclamation, landing with a _thump_. "Do you want a ride to school, loser?"

Danny grinned, getting to his feet. "I was hoping you'd say that. I brought my stuff."

"Give me twenty minutes," Sam said, rising. "If you hear my mom coming back, keep out of sight."

Danny nodded, flopping back onto the bed and stretching out. This was an old game—although it seemed delightfully normal to be hiding from a girl's parents instead of from people who were trying to blast him with laser rifles.

Sam's room was shadowed and quiet—her heavy drapes blocked out a lot of the offending sunlight, and everything was dim, soft shades of grey and indigo. Danny closed his eyes, loving how comfortable this place felt to him.

Until the squeaky twist of a shower tap made his ears perk and his eyes fly open again.

For some reason, he hadn't realized that Sam's preparation for school would include things like the faint hiss of a shower while he waited in her sleepy dark room. He heard the change in the sound of the water as it fell on bare skin instead of tile and tried studiously to ignore it, but it was impossible surrounded by the dark canopy she slept under. Especially when his eyes kept bouncing to the subtly erotic elements of corset straps dangling out of her dresser drawers, when her scent of sugar and spice clung to everything.

He told himself to get a grip, to remember that it was _Sam_, his best friend—but that argument just didn't work anymore. There was no longer a line separating Sam-his-best-friend from Sam-the-girl-he-loved. Just like Danny Fenton and Danny Phantom, they were the same person. Sam, his best friend _was_ Sam, the girl he loved.

Just the thought of it soothed him, and then the sound of the shower faded to a stop, and a blow-dryer clicked on, calming him even further. Nothing sexy about a blow-dryer, really.

He stared up at the canopy. This was where she slept, where she dreamed. Maybe this was where her mind had conjured the poem that he couldn't seem to get out of his head. _I claim I do not love him, but still awake I lie…_

_So this is what it's like to wake up in Sam's bed,_ he thought, then immediately blushed, as if anyone could see him.

A thought struck him, and the immediacy of his video project forced his fantasies aside. Hurrying across the room, he knocked on the bathroom door, all shyness forgotten. "Sam? Don't put any makeup on yet."

"What?" Sam called over the steady whine of the blow-dryer. "What?"

He didn't want to yell. Who knew if Mrs. Manson was still lurking around the upstairs hallways? He kept knocking until the dryer stopped and she emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, almost as if she were a ghost herself. Danny was relieved to see that she was wearing a short black skirt and a purple t-shirt—normal Sam fare that, while still setting his pulse to racing somehow, didn't threaten an immediate cardiac episode.

"Okay, okay! I'm almost ready," she laughed. "What is it?"

"Did you put on makeup? I was trying to tell you not to put on any makeup," Danny said, leaning in close to examine her face.

She gave him a funny look and pushed him gently aside, picking up a black pencil and a tube of mascara from her dresser. "Nope, not yet. It's all out here. Why?"

"Wait, wait. Hold on." Danny flipped the digital screen of his camera open. "Okay. I'm just going to watch you while you get ready, okay? Just pretend I'm not here."

He made sure the mirror wouldn't reflect him as he filmed her applying eyeliner, mascara and lipstick. "Why do girls _do_ that?"

"Do what?" Sam laughed.

"Keep their mouths open while they put on eye makeup."

She chuckled, recapping the tube and turning towards him. "Can you hand me my boots, please?"

He obeyed, then trained the camera on her as she tugged the boot on over her purple stockings. "How do I look?" she asked, smiling at him.

How did she look? She looked lovely, the same way she looked every day.

"N-nice," Danny stammered, inwardly cringing at how lame it sounded. Shutting the camera off, he grabbed his bag. "I'll meet you downstairs, okay?" He had to get out of there before she heard the frantic beating of his heart.

"Gotcha," she said cheerfully, running out her bedroom door. He could hear her calling goodbyes to a family that probably wasn't listening.

He closed his eyes and let himself drop invisibly through the floor, liking for once the feeling of things falling away beneath his feet.

_Gotcha_.

She certainly did.

* * *

Danny Fenton wasn't the only student at Casper High with a secret. 

Dash Baxter had a dark, hidden addiction that he would _die_ if anyone found out about, and yet, try as he might, he couldn't seem to give it up. In fact, he was trying desperately to figure out why he hadn't gotten a fix for the past few days.

_All the conditions seem to be right_, the jock thought in puzzlement. _Why don't I have anything to show for it? _He was going into intense withdrawal without his daily dosage; he refused to think about another missed day.

_Okay, so I press Menu, then Function, then Time-Record?_ he wondered, brow furrowing. Technology was not his strong point.

He jabbed at a few buttons on his remote control. _Okay. So it's Menu-Function-Time-Record-Daily_, he confirmed. _Then Mon-Fri…wait a second. The time should be set to one PM. Why isn't it?_

The answer blinked at him in bright digital green. _12:00, 12:00, 12:00_. The VCR clock had reset somehow and never been reprogrammed.

"No _wonder_ it hasn't been taping!" Dash exclaimed, smacking a beefy fist down on the console. "Stupid lousy—where's the manual?"

He cast an agonized glance over to his desk, but all that was there was the _Sports Illustrated _swimsuit issue and a worn, well-read copy of Nicholas Sparks' _The Notebook_. No time to dig through his closet for the VCR manual. Even though the Ferrari could do one-sixty without breaking a sweat, he was still going to be late for school if he didn't leave the house right now.

Muttering about "dumb stupid geek machines", the jock grabbed his books, then ran downstairs and out the door, vaulting into his Ferrari and shifting it into gear with a violent jerk of his arm. The tires shrieked in pain as he stomped on the gas pedal and pulled away from the curb.

School wasn't so bad most of the time—his coaches were always convincing his teachers to look the other way when he got bad grades, so homework was no big. There were lots of cute girls to look at and a bunch of losers to push around when he got bored. Sometimes the losers pushed back—like Danny Fenton, Sam Manson, and Tucker Foley—but they were no match for the status quo. So for the most part, Dash liked school.

But he hated, just _hated_ to miss his soap operas.

* * *

"Wait, wait!" Danny called as Sam headed down the walk. She rolled her eyes good-naturedly and turned to face him. 

"Danny, we're going to be _late_!"

"Almost done, I promise." Danny was propping the camera on the side of Sam's stoop. "I just want a shot of both of us getting into the car, okay?" He made some adjustments, bent to look through the viewfinder, then straightened up. "Okay, go!"

They got into the car and shut the doors. "Start 'er up and go down the block," Danny instructed.

"But the camera—" Sam protested, even as she obeyed, starting the Mustang, then pulling away from the curb and heading down the block. "Danny, what about the—"

She was talking to empty air again. Arching a brow, she kept driving. Seconds later, he caught up, phasing back into the car with camera in hand. "Good job," he said, flipping the screen open and focusing on her again. "That was great!"

"Are we nearly done?" she asked, feeling a little weary of being on display. She fumbled for the radio dial, and Dumpty Humpty blasted into the car.

Danny smiled behind the viewfinder. "Almost, Sam. I promise you this is all going to be worth it. At least, I hope it will be." He shut off the camera again, adjusting the radio dial so the music wasn't so loud.

"Hey," she said, a thought striking her. "If you're done filming, you'd better get that seat belt on, pal."

He laughed at how protective she was and buckled the seat belt, the camera in his lap. "What about Tucker?" he asked as Sam purposely didn't take the turn-off for the techno-geek's house. "Aren't we going to get him?"

"He said he had to finish up his _own_ video essay this morning," Sam answered. "Told me we should go on without him."

"Lucky me," Danny said, smiling. "I get you all to myself today."

Sam sneered. "My condolences."

Arching a brow at her, he said, "Sam, I am trying to enjoy having you all to myself, so could you please stop ruining it with your cynical remarks?"

She blinked at him, and then she laughed. A good, real Sam laugh, that carbonated sound he loved.

"What?" he asked. "What's funny?"

"_You_ are!" was her immediate answer. "I almost _believe_ it when you say things like that."

"Believe _what_?" he asked. "That you're cynical?"

"That _you're_ lucky." She smiled, a secret, sweet little smile. "I mean, that you _think_ you're lucky, to be stuck with me."

He returned the smile. "Believe it, Sam." A thought struck him. "I'd force you to look me in the eyes when I said it, if, you know, you weren't _driving_."

She laughed again, and he _wanted _it, he wanted that laugh forever. He wanted to be the one who could make her laugh like that.

The Mustang spit shale from beneath its tires as Sam turned into a space in the Casper High parking lot. "Too bad, Danny, you're going to have to give me up to the crowds as soon as the bell rings." She gave him a teasing smile and shifted the car into park.

After some thought, Danny grinned wickedly back. "That's what you think."

Unbuckling his seat belt, he leaned across her lap, body brushing against hers as he stretched. Sam gave a soft moue of surprise, and then Danny pressed the lock on the driver's-side door.

Sam blinked, and then that laugh was filling the car. He lay in her lap, staring up at her at the strange angle.

"I don't suck at keeping secrets, you know," he said, remembering what she'd said to him the night before.

"Mm?" she asked with a playful smile. "Oh, really?"

He smiled back. "Really. There's one big one that you don't know."

She crooked her fingers wickedly. "Do I have to tickle it out of you?"

"_No_." He grabbed her wrists, holding her hands immobile, grinning. "You'll know soon enough."

* * *

"How bad is it?" Tucker whined, looking at a puffy, swollen eye in Valerie's locker mirror. 

"You're going to have a shiner," Valerie sighed, shutting the locker so he wouldn't have to look at his mangled reflection. "You shouldn't have gotten up in his face like that."

"I thought it was _you_ in the suit," Tucker groaned. "Those giant padded gloves smashed my glasses-cam right into my temple! It's broken!"

"Tucker, _you_ were the one who sneaked up behind him and yelled, '_Boo_'!" Valerie protested, trying to hold in a giggle.

"I thought it was _you_," Tucker repeated. "And if I had scared _you_, you wouldn't have gone for the _face_."

"Oh, yes I would have," Valerie laughed. "In fact, you'd probably be dead right now."

Tucker slid down the lockers to sit on the floor, pawing at the bruised eye. "Thanks. Thanks a lot for taking my pain so seriously."

"Want to hear something _stupid_?" Valerie giggled, joining him on the floor. "It was sort of fun. Except the part where the mascot attacked you, I mean."

Tucker turned his head towards her sharply. "Why is that _stupid_? Because you had fun doing something with Bad Luck Tuck?"

Embarrassed, Valerie turned her gaze to the clean white toes of her sneakers. "I deserved that."

The tail end of Tucker's sigh turned into a laugh. "Yeah, you did. It's okay."

She raised her eyes. "Really?"

"Really. I had fun, too." His eyes—even the injured one—twinkled. "Except the part where the mascot attacked me, I mean."

Turning her body, Valerie examined Tucker's eye closely. "It's really not as bad as you think. Maybe if we put some ice on it, the swelling will go down. Let's go see if the nurse has any." Climbing back to her feet, she dusted off her skirt and held her hands out to him. "Come on, Tuckerino."

Tucker picked up his camera and extended his free hand to Val, letting her pull him to his feet. "Thanks."

"Try to look pitiful," Valerie coached. Tucker pouted. "Good!"

"Good morning," a voice called cheerfully, and Danny bounded across the hall, camera in hand and Sam in tow.

"Slow _down_, Danny!" Sam said, but just as cheerfully. "Hey. Tucker. Hey, Valerie."

"Look who's bright-eyed and bushy-tailed," Valerie joked. "What have you two been up to?"

Both of them immediately blushed. "Nothing!" Danny said. "We drove to school like we always do."

Tucker and Valerie exchanged amused looks. When accompanied by a blush, a Nothing was usually the best kind of a Something.

"How's the filming going?" Tucker asked.

Danny grinned. "_Excellent._ Sam's been great."

Sam looked pleased. "It's been really fun helping Danny out with…" She trailed off, catching sight of Tucker's eye behind his glasses. "Tucker, _yikes_. What happened to your _eye_?"

"It's a long story, Sam." Tucker laughed and pushed his glasses up to reveal the bruise. "I'm going to let the video tell it for me, actually." Laughing again, he added, "Which is probably going to involve a _lot_ of creative editing. Good thing we've got a free period this morning."

Danny brandished his own camera. "_To the editing lab_!" he announced heroically.

Tucker nodded at Valerie. "Coming along?"

"I'll catch up. I want to—ask Sam something," Valerie said, eyes twinkling mischievously.

Sam didn't hear this remark; she was teasing Danny. "Make me look good, Danny," she purred, smiling at him.

"You don't need any help from me," was Danny's answer. He winked at Sam, then followed Tucker down the hall.

Sam sighed, smiling, then drifted across the hall. Valerie watched as she absently batted at the locker in front of her, fingers playing idly with the latch.

The twinkle in Valerie's eyes turned wicked. She approached Sam, who was still fumbling with the lock, and tapped her lightly on the shoulder.

Sam turned, blinking as if she hadn't been expecting an interruption. "Oh, hey, Val. What are you still doing here? Don't you want to edit your video essay?"

"I've got time," Valerie answered. "There's not much left for me to edit. What about you? Where are you off to?"

"I'm trying my hardest to get out of my home-ec practical," Sam laughed. "If I get an A on my next sewing project, I'm exempt from the test, so I'm going to work on it a bit right now."

"Maybe you can model it for _Danny_," the other girl purred. "You two seem pretty cozy lately. What's the deal?"

The goth's pale cheek tinted red. "No deal. Danny's my best friend. You know that."

"Old news," Valerie laughed. "Come on, Sam. I promise I won't tell Tucker."

Sam jiggled the lock again, now with the ferocity of frustration. "There's nothing, Val, really. Everything's the same as always."

Valerie could barely hold back the laughter. "Whatever you say, Sam." She grinned at the goth. "By the way, that's not your locker."

Sam turned suddenly horrified eyes to the locker number. With a small sound of dismay, she hurried down the hall to her own locker.

In the interest of politeness, Valerie waited until she was gone to collapse into a fit of giggles.

* * *

Valerie made it to the video editing lab just before the bell rang to start their free period. Tucker was already complaining. 

"If I had known we were going to have to transfer everything to VHS, I would have stuck with my _old_ camera," the techno-geek groused. His brand-new, state-of-the-art camera wasn't playing very nicely with some of the more outdated equipment in the Casper High editing lab.

"What part of 'video essay' don't you understand, Foley?" Valerie chuckled good-naturedly, taking a seat next to him.

"Sam told you that your old camera was fine, Tuck," Danny said from his seat on Tucker's other side.

"Easy for you to say," Tucker grumbled, using his mouse to move the file containing his leftover footage to the Recycle Bin and right-clicking. "You're not having any trouble."

Danny wasn't. He hadn't had a whole lot of extra footage, and his audio had been easy to mix in due to the fact that he'd foregone background music. He was nearly finished.

Across the lab, Dash Baxter tipped his chair back. This was just going to be too easy. He barely _had_ to edit his footage—it was all so awesome that he didn't want to leave any of it out. All it needed was the proper soundtrack.

_Fen-tons-o-fun doesn't stand a chance of winning our bet,_ Dash thought gleefully. _I've got the most beautiful subject in the world!_

The popular bully's eyes strayed over to where Danny was smiling at his workstation. Tipping his chair as far back as he could, Dash caught a glimpse of that goth chick looking utterly miserable in a pink, frilly dress.

_What the hell…?_

Danny scrolled through more footage, smiling at the screen. All of the footage was of Sam—Sam laughing, Sam in a black gown, Sam looking angry at the camera.

"Isn't that the goth chick?" Dash asked, leaning rudely over Danny, peering at the screen, where Sam was onstage at the Skulk and Lurk in her purple corset and black miniskirt.

"That's…pretty hot," Dash said, sound mildly surprised at his own appreciation. "Does she have any other skirts like that?"

Danny snarled. "You'll never find out, gonad-for-brains. Get lost."

Dash snickered. "I'll get to see it when you're showin' it in class, Fenton. Jeez, if _you're_ not going to date her, what's the big deal?"

"I _am _going—" Danny forced Dash away from the computer as he got to his feet on the power of his rage, but he thought better of finishing his sentence, a blush coloring his face. Instead, he poked a warning finger into Dash's chest. "Don't talk about Sam like that. And stop looking over my shoulder, Dash. Why don't you pay some attention to your _own_ video?"

Danny pointed across the room to Dash's workstation. He was transferring his project to an old videotape he'd brought from home, and the new footage had played to its end, revealing what had been on the old tape. Overdramatic violin music played as an announcer's voice came on.

"_Will Nurse Blonda ever kiss Dr. Poofeverwish? We'll return to 'All My Biceps' after these messages."_

"Is that a _soap opera_, Dash?" Tucker snickered.

Dash shot him a hateful glare, then raced over to his workstation, muttering, "It must have been one of my mom's tapes…"

Danny rolled his eyes, turning back to his workstation. He could still hear some of the other students ragging on Dash, so he pulled a pair of headphones out of his bag and plugged them into his computer. Then only he could hear the sound on the video. He moved the footage back to the middle of Sam's poem.

"_They do not come, not sleep, not love, not he I want the most. I tell myself that it's all right—I don't believe in ghosts._"

Danny's brow creased in puzzlement. She _did_ believe in ghosts—she knew they were real. What could she have meant by that?

It was probably just a poem. She was probably just playing to the interests of the crowd at the Skulk and Lurk.

"_I claim I do not love him, but still awake I lie…"_

A possibility hit Danny unexpectedly, turning his stomach to water and his heart to a trip-hammer.

_No. It **couldn't** be…_

**_Could_** _it?_

He froze the frame on Sam as she finished reciting. An expression of calm relief was on her face before the applause even started.

Relief at the unburdening, however subtle, of a secret?

Danny told himself to calm down, not to get his hopes up. It could have been just a poem. It didn't _have_ to be based on life.

Even if it was, it could be about _anyone_, he warned himself.

Still…

"Dude, you okay?" Tucker's voice drifted in from somewhere beyond the headphones. "Danny? You're really pale, man."

"I'm…I'm okay," Danny said, taking the headphones off. He smiled. "I think I'm really okay."

* * *

The dodge ball thwacked Sam soundly in the stomach. "Oof!" 

_Fweeeeeeeet! _Mrs. Tetschlav's whistle blasted from the sidelines; she jerked a thumb over her shoulder. "Manson! Out!"

Pouting, Sam stomped over to the bleachers and sat down next to Danny, who'd been eliminated in the first two seconds of the game by a team effort from Dash and Kwan. She leaned close to whisper in his ear, "Can you just phase us out when the ball comes near?"

"You should be better at dodging, skinny," Danny teased, poking her sensitive sides until she squirmed. "Besides, you're always telling me not to use my powers for trivial stuff."

"Dodgeball is _war_," Sam huffed. "And war is not trivial."

Danny laughed. "Besides, you don't believe in ghosts. Right?"

Sam arched a dark eyebrow at him. "Are you _still_ stuck on that stupid poem I wrote?"

He wasn't going to get a better segue than this. He warned himself not to screw it up. Trying to sound nonchalant, he asked, "What's it _about_, anyway?"

Sam blushed. Her thin pale fingers fidgeted as she said, "…Nothing. It's just a poem."

"Oh." He couldn't help but feel a little disappointed.

She angled another suspicious glance at him. "Why? What did _you_ think it was about?"

It was Danny's turn to blush and fidget. "Oh, well, _nothing_, I mean, I was just curious. I mean, well, it was pretty, um…well…it was kind of…you know, romantic. For a goth poetry slam, anyway," he amended quickly.

Sam looked suddenly very agitated. "Just forget it, okay?" she said irritably. "It was just a stupid poem. It doesn't mean anything."

Depression knifed through Danny, but he kept his voice firm as he said, "I didn't think it was stupid. I liked it. I really liked it."

Sam looked a little embarrassed at her own outburst. "Can we talk about this some other time, please?"

It was too much. Danny couldn't keep himself in check anymore. He knew he should play it cool, but all the emotions he'd been holding back for so long were bubbling to his lips, his limbs. He reached for her, wrapping his hands gently around her wrists, body turning towards hers. "When?" he asked softly. "When are we going to talk about it?" He didn't just mean her poem.

The mixture of fear and longing on her face proved to him that he hadn't been imagining things. She felt it too; she wanted it too.

_It'll be good, Sam_, he thought desperately. _It'll be so good. Let me show you. Please._

"I…I didn't think you wanted to," she said, just above a whisper.

Danny's nerves were standing on end. She didn't think he wanted to _what_? Finally bring up the desperate depth of feeling that he had for her—that they both seemed to have for each _other_? She didn't think he wanted to pull her to him, kiss her senseless, show her with his lips and hands how he loved her?

She was scared. He understood that; he was scared too. They were best friends and they'd been through everything together. She'd stood at his side and helped him keep the most amazing secret in history. He was closer to her than to anyone else in the world. It was scary to risk all that for any reason, because things would never be the same again if it went wrong.

But it _wouldn't_ go wrong. He knew it wouldn't, _because_ they were so close. They knew everything there was to know about each other, all the secrets, all the fears, all the quirks and foibles that made them up.

It wouldn't go wrong, because he already loved her. And if she loved him back then the damage was already done. She wouldn't be able to ignore the feelings any more than he would.

All they had left to do was say it out loud.

Kwan caught the dodge ball. "Wahooooo!" he crowed, doing an absurd victory dance near half-court.

_Fweeeeeeet!_ Tetschlav blew the whistle. "Nice catch, Kwan. Fenton, up on yer paws. You're back in."

Danny nearly screamed in frustration. Grinding his teeth, he jogged back onto the court, glancing back at Sam, who looked equally upset.

No. He would _not_ let it get away from him this time. Danny's blue eyes narrowed at the other side of the gym, waiting for his chance. Nathan, who wasn't very athletic, threw the ball high and slow, and Danny surprised his classmates and Mrs. Tetschlav by leaping gracefully to grab it out of midair and cradle it against his chest. He beckoned to Sam.

_Fweeet!_ "Atta boy, Fenton. Nice catch, good hustle. Manson, you're back in."

"Thanks," Sam said as she hurried to stand beside him.

"No big," he said, dodging a weak throw from Star.

"So what—" Sam ducked as Paulina threw the ball over her head. "—what now?"

"You said you might not have to take your home-ec practical tomorrow afternoon, right?" Danny asked.

Sam looked smug. "Only if the skirt passes inspection tomorrow, but it will. The skirt rules." Then she blinked. "Why?"

"Because I really want you to see my video essay. Maybe Lancer will let you sit in on our class if Tetschlav lets you out of the practical. Then we can talk about them both—my video and your poem."

"What?" Sam asked, sounding utterly puzzled. He didn't blame her for being confused. It definitely sounded bizarre.

"Just _trust_ me, okay?" he said. "Do you trust me?"

Sam stopped dodging, her arms flopping to her sides in exasperation. "You _know_ I do."

The ball thunked into her shoulder.

_Fweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet!_ "Manson! Out!"

"_Tucker!_" Sam yelled, glaring at the person who threw the ball.

Tucker laughed thinly, looking guilty. "Sorry, Sam. I was aiming for Valerie!"

The owner of that name jeered from beneath the basketball hoop and pointed a mocking finger as she talked trash. "You couldn't hit the broad side of a _barn_, Foley! Even if _both_ your eyes were working!"

"That's it, you are so going down!" Tucker laughed from midcourt as Sam stalked back to the bleachers.

Danny had had enough. Picking up the ball that had hit Sam, he thumped it against his chest, then threw it over his shoulder. "Here, I'm out too." He walked off the court to sit tiredly next to Sam.

"What's with him?" Star wondered aloud. Valerie and Tucker exchanged knowing looks, then resumed playing Duck Hunt with each other.

* * *

Mr. Lancer was annoyed. 

"No," Sam said, brushing crumbs off a black apron that she'd decorated with bats, spiders and cobwebs drawn on in paint pens. "No way."

"_The Devil Wears Prada_!" Lancer exclaimed, slamming both fists down on the table. "Ms. Manson, surely you understand the difficult position I'm in. Even Mrs. Tetschlav has to admit you've made remarkable strides in home economics in a very short time."

"Told you I'd whip her into shape," Tetschlav said proudly, clapping Sam on the shoulder with a meaty hand. The goth winced. "Manson's had the best turnaround I've ever seen in my class. Her grades aren't perfect, but at the rate she's going, she'll easily pass the course."

"Then studio art, here I come," Sam said happily. Casting an appreciative eye over the drawings on her apron, Lancer had no doubt she'd ace that class too. There was talent lurking in the cute little drawings.

"Perhaps I could convince Mrs. Tetschlav to award you extra credit for providing me with assistance." Lancer's eyelid twitched as he silently begged Mrs. Tetschlav with a look.

Unfortunately for Mr. Lancer, there was only one thing Mrs. Tetschlav loved more than torturing her students, and that was torturing _him_. "She doesn't need it, Lancer. If the skirt Manson's working on in class turns out as good as her cookies have been, she'll have raised her grades enough to be excused from our next practical."

Lancer narrowed his eyes at Tetschlav, then turned to Sam again. "Ms. Manson. I beg you to reconsider."

"Sorry, Mr. Lancer," Sam said, sampling a cookie shaped like a spider off the tray she'd recently taken out of the oven. Pronouncing it good, she proceeded to pour black sugar sprinkles over the rest of the cookies on the tray. "I hope I'm deader than an icicle in hell before I sew something outside of this class. Why don't you ask Paulina? I'm sure she'd welcome some extra credit." The goth smiled cruelly as she reached for a tube of frosting. "Rumor has it her cookie project isn't going so well."

As if on cue, Star's small nose wrinkled as she wondered aloud, "Is something burning?"

Paulina hissed at Sam, "I'm at the stove, not deaf! You just wait, you just _wait_, Manson!" With a sob of frustration, the popular princess wrenched a tray from the oven. Smoke wafted from eighteen identical burned lumps of dough.

Tetschlav sighed, walking over to take a look at the scorched tray. "Don't worry, Paulina. If Manson misbehaves again, she can tutor you and that will be her punishment."

Only Lancer was close enough to Sam to hear her mutter, "I'll be good." The bald teacher bit down on a laugh.

Paulina nearly turned purple with rage, but only slammed the tray down on the counter.

Sam held out a plate of the now-decorated spider-shaped cookies to Lancer. "Want to bring some of these to your video class, Mr. Lancer? They're fresh."

Lancer had to smirk at how the goth beamed with pride. "That's very nice of you, Ms. Manson," he said, taking the tray. "What brought about your new pride in home economics?"

Sam's smile was sweet and secret. "Positive reinforcement."

Lancer shook his head as he carried the tray down the hall. "I'll bet Mr. Fenton could explain that cryptic answer," he said to the cookies. They stared up at him with M & M eyes, unblinking, and their cherry-frosting smiles seemed to agree.

* * *

Mr. Lancer loved teaching. He was aware that it was largely thankless work; he knew the majority of the student body was comprised of kids who would coast through on good looks and sports stats. But he also knew there were a few genuinely reachable students out there, too. He could tell who they were by the looks of mild surprise on their faces when they realized they'd actually learned something. He'd seen that look on Danny Fenton's face the first time he'd actually aced a test; the look had crossed Tucker Foley's face when he started reeling back the information he'd gleaned from the Cram-tastic Intensive Test Prep. The teacher knew that look well, and he knew that look could eventually evolve into the look of confident pride he'd seen on Sam Manson's face when she'd offered to share the cookies she'd baked in home economics. It was that look that had Mr. Lancer racking his brain every day for lessons and assignments that would not only help his students learn, but help them _think_. He viewed his job as not only to teach them about literature and chemistry and biology and mathematics, but also to help them learn about their world and about themselves. Hence, the video essay projects on beauty. He wanted them to really stretch their creativity, show what they thought was lovely and amazing, and in doing so, teach _him_ something about _them_. 

He just hoped to hell he wouldn't have a class full of videos about Paulina.

Steeling his nerves, Mr. Lancer strode into the classroom with a confidence he didn't feel. "All right, everyone. The day of reckoning has arrived."

Laughter from the class. That was a good sign.

"First thing I want everyone to do is come up here and stack their videos on my desk. I'll be marking your names off as you come up, so anyone who doesn't have their video is in trouble. You were warned that everything was due today and you had more than enough time to finish editing."

Strangely enough, there were no groans or gasps from the class. Every single student shuffled up to the front of the room to hand in a tape. Some were already beaming with pride in their work, like Valerie Gray; others looked smug, like Dash Baxter. Lancer kept a watchful eye on Danny Fenton, but the boy just smiled to himself and stacked his video atop the rest.

Before he could wonder about that further, Lancer was distracted by the next student. "Mr. Foley, what happened to your eye?"

The owner of the injured eye winced as he rolled it. "Oh, you'll see, sir." He placed his video on the stack.

Uh oh.

Lancer took one of the spider-shaped cookies off the tray and bit into it. "Compliments of Ms. Manson," he said, displaying the tray to the rest of the class. "Quite good. Anyone?"

More than half the class was immediately back up at the desk, except for Tucker Foley, who clutched at his stomach and groaned "No more." Danny laughed and bit into a cookie.

"Okay," Lancer said. "Who wants to go first?"

Hands shot up. Another pleasant surprise.

* * *

As the class progressed, Mr. Lancer had to admit his students had done well for the most part. Heather Tansy had a fondness for birds; she'd waited with her camera in a local sanctuary waiting for some of her favorites to show up in her viewfinder. Ron Freeman had gotten permission from his sensei to film his karate class working through their kata, all moving and turning as a single unit. Monique Tate had taken footage of her newborn baby niece. Josh McGovern had propped his camera near the glass tank his pet python lived in and caught footage of it shedding its skin. Difficult skateboarding tricks, falling leaves, spiderwebs, tropical fish—seeing what his students found beautiful was an eye-opening experience for Lancer. 

Some of the videos were more imaginative than others, and some were just plain funnier—Kwan, showing a creative streak that Lancer would never have attributed to him, handed in a video comprised entirely of slow-motion footage of jocks shoving members of the marching band into lockers, while a dreamy rendition of "Ave Maria" played in the background. The entire class had gotten a kick out of that—even kids who were normally victims of similar abuse. Dash Baxter laughed so hard that Lancer had to send him out into the hall for a drink of water from the fountain.

True to his word, Lancer would have found it impossible to fail any of them. He took points off here and there for editing mishaps or when he thought they'd lost an opportunity to capitalize on something, but for the most part he was giving out higher grades than he'd ever given in any class before. While the technical things might have been rusty in places, he couldn't ignore the sheer creative value of the content, which had been his biggest concern.

The teacher plucked the next video from the stack. "Well, well, Mr. Baxter. Are you ready?"

Dash turned a smug smile to Danny. 'The question is, are _you_ ready for this, Fenton Tarantino?"

Danny made a big show of yawning and looking bored. "Laugh while you can, Dash. I've got the most beautiful subject on _any_ of these videos."

Lancer cleared his throat, interrupting. "Gentlemen. I'm well aware that you're once again using my class as a forum for gambling. While I don't often condone such behavior, far be it from me to stop you from doing something that would motivate you to work hard in my class." Leveling his gaze on the two boys, he said, "The way I see it, if we show Mr. Baxter's video today, we'll wait until tomorrow for Mr. Fenton's. How does that sound?"

"It doesn't matter _when_ mine's screened, it's _still_ better than Fenton's!" Dash declared.

"I'll wait till tomorrow," Danny said coolly. "I'm not scared." _And_, he added in thought, _maybe then Sam can see it too._

Lancer's eyes twinkled. "Done, then. Mr. Baxter, you're on." And he pressed PLAY.

Dash's video was eerily reminiscent of the early-90s Bowflex commercials on late-night television—glamorized shots of someone's overly muscled body parts. Each over-developed bicep, tricep, abdominal muscle dissolved into the next, and then the class was forced to watch a muscle flex and ripple across the entire span of someone's upper back and shoulders. The same process was repeated even more unpleasantly with the pectoral muscle.

"Ugh," Valerie Gray murmured.

Next, the viewers were treated to a series of jump cuts between the equipment in the Casper High weight room. Obnoxious techno music, heavy on the bass, played in the background, but not enough that it drowned out the clanking of the weights as the camera favored shots of the limbs being exercised, carefully avoiding the subject's face.

Finally, the theme music from _2001_ accompanied a slow pan from bare feet all the way up to reveal the subject of the video was Dash Baxter himself, in his Casper High swim team Speedo. He gave the camera the standard Hollywood muscleman arm flex, and the class made some derisive sounds.

When the lights came up, everyone applauded, although whether it was in genuine appreciation or just because they were thankful that it was over, no one could tell. Lancer looked confused. "Well, well, Mr. Baxter. That was…entertaining."

"If by 'entertaining', you mean, 'hideous'," Tucker muttered.

Unfortunately, he didn't mutter it low enough. "Shut up, Foley, or I'll bench press _you_!" Dash snarled.

"You know, Dash, there are _other_ cuts besides jump cuts," Danny mused.

Dash sneered, as if Danny had said exactly what he wanted to hear. "People don't _want_ subtle filmmaking, Fenton! They want big and bold! Why do you think Schumacher directed the _Batman_ films after Burton?"

"Do not mention those campy nightmares in my presence," Tucker said frostily. "Those sets were _not_ Gotham City."

Like a samurai sword of reason cutting through the impending disagreement, Lancer said smoothly, "Mr. Baxter, while your video would make an excellent advertisement for, say, anabolic steroids, how exactly does it portray beauty?"

Once again, it was as if Dash had been waiting for this particular question. He leaned back in his chair, looking smug. "I just filmed the most beautiful thing I could think of!"

Valerie groaned. "You're not conceited. You're convinced."

But Lancer seemed convinced as well. "Pretty clever, Mr. Baxter," he chuckled. "While no one can argue that you didn't take a unique approach to the topic—_no one_," he reiterated warningly to Danny, Tucker, and Valerie, who all looked inclined to speak up, "I'm afraid I'll have to agree with Mr. Fenton on the abuse of the jump cuts. The dissolves were a nice change, but it just simply wasn't enough to offset the uniformity of your editing. Barring that, I think this deserves a solid A-minus for creativity."

Danny gritted his teeth as the bully gloated, "Beat that, Fenton Night Shyamalan."

"You'll get a twist all right, Dash," Danny snarled.

The two boys bristled at each other. Tucker prepared to jump in, but Valerie saved the day by raising her hand and trilling sweetly, "Show mine next, Mr. Lancer. Please?" She waved her hand in the air for emphasis, pottery bracelet dancing at her wrists. "Me, me next."

Lancer smiled at her exuberance and found her video in the pile on his desk. "All right, Ms. Gray. Here we are."

Valerie was obviously very proud of her video. She gave Danny and Tucker an excited grin. "Wait till you guys see _this_. It's going to knock your socks off."

Tucker sighed importantly, settling down in his chair. "I'm not wearing any, so that _would_ be impressive!"

"_Ew_!" Valerie shuddered at the very idea, but she was still smiling as Lancer dimmed the lights.

Actually, everyone in the class had to admit Valerie's video was impressive. Soft chillout music accompanied an aerial view of Amity Park—the viewer followed the camera as it panned over the outskirts of town, the rolling hills, the forests rustling in the wind, then journeyed into the inner city. Parks, streets, neighborhoods all looked like a patchwork of order and organization from above; the people were like tiny dots on the sidewalks.

Danny especially liked the video; he knew how beautiful the view was from up there.

"There's my house!" Tucker said in a stage whisper, and Valerie whacked him with her notebook. "_OW_!"

"Shhhhh!" hissed the rest of the class.

Dash stretched his arms above his head and pretended to yawn loudly. "This is so boring," he groaned.

"_Shhhhhh!_" rehissed the class.

When the lights came up, most of the class was so relaxed they were practically comatose. Lancer was smiling at Valerie. "Impressive," he said, nodding. "Most impressive, Ms. Gray. I must ask, how did you manage an aerial pan such as this one?"

Valerie's eyes widened. Danny and Tucker knew the look of one's synapses freezing just when they had to come up with a lie. It was obvious to the two boys exactly how Valerie had filmed her video, but they doubted Mr. Lancer would accept an explanation about jet sleds just like that.

"It's not fair," Tucker said suddenly, his eyebrows dipping over his eyes as he looked at Val. "Just cause your dad works in a state-of-the-art lab shouldn't mean you get an advantage over us!"

Everyone looked at Tucker differently then—Valerie looked surprised, Lancer looked confused, and Danny looked impressed; he was always amazed at how clever he and his friends had become at thinking on their feet.

"Now, now, Mr. Foley," Lancer admonished. "Every student is allowed to use all the resources available to him or her. We can't fault Ms. Gray for taking advantage of her resources to the fullest extent." He smiled at Valerie. "Good job, Gray. A-plus."

The class oohed; it was the highest grade in the class so far.

When Lancer turned his back, Valerie treated him to a very grateful smile and a silent mouthing of "Thank you". Tucker answered with a wave and a friendly, no-big-deal smile.

"We have time for one more video, I think," Lancer said, searching through the stack of tapes. "Since you're so vocal today, Mr. Foley, how about yours?"

"Sounds good!" Tucker said, relaxing in his seat.

"Good idea, Mr. Lancer." Valerie's eyes twinkled. "I've just _got_ to see how this one turned out."

"I'm pretty curious myself," Danny laughed.

"Prepare to be amazed," Tucker said. "I have to say, I think I've outdone myself here."

"We'll be the judge of that, Mr. Foley," Lancer quipped as he slid the tape into the VCR. The screen lit up, and Tucker sighed happily as his movie began and the opening credits were displayed:

_**Foley Studios presents…**_

_**The Bold and the Flame-Broiled**_

Tucker had also abused cuts in his film, but since the shots were little more than stills of different areas of the Nasty Burger—the exterior of the restaurant favoring the sign and the front doors; the kitchen; the fry-o-lators, the tables—they were less jump cuts and closer to smash cuts. It resembled the beginning of the sort of videos they showed potential employees at fast-food restaurants.

The camera panned across the gleaming, late-night dining floor—the establishing shot Tucker had taken. He began his spiel in a voice-over as David Rose's _Holiday for Strings_ played in the background.

"_**The Nasty Burger**!_ _Hangout to Casper High students year over year, our beloved Nasty Burger is not only home to after-school hijinks, it's also a place to make new friends—like the Nasty Burger, Nasty Fries, and Mighty Meaty Cheesy Melt! Let's go meet our new pals, shall we?_"

Tucker's camera was now at the register, where a Nasty Employee with long hair and mustard stains on his shirt was waiting to take his order. "_Welcome to Nasty Burger. You name it, we'll fry it. How can I help you today?"_

"_Hello, my good sir,_" Tucker said. "_I'm doing a documentary on your fine cuisine. I'd like to order one of everything you have, please._"

The cashier didn't look impressed. "_That'll be fifty-nine ninety-nine, sir._"

The camera tilted towards the floor. Tucker's Timberlands were visible, and one of his hands turned his cargo pockets inside out. The search yielded a piece of lint, a ball of fuzz, a rubber band, and a ten-dollar bill.

"_Maybe just a Mighty Meaty Cheesy Melt, Nasty Fries, and a Slurpster,_" Tucker amended sheepishly.

"_Eight seventy-five, sir_," the cashier droned, as if it didn't matter at all to him. And it probably didn't.

"_Is it possible for me to film the miracle as it occurs?_" Tucker asked excitedly. The employee turned to the mascot, who was tramping in a side door.

"_He's cool, Larry,_" the mascot—Valerie—said. "_As long as he keeps that stupid camera away from me!_"

Tucker turned the camera so he was looking into the lens as he spoke. "_They're going to let me film the creation of their culinary masterpieces! This truly is a magical place._"

The camera wobbled its way back into the kitchen. The sound of things frying could be heard, as well as shouts of "_Order up!_" and the clang of silverware. A girl flipped a patty with a spatula, but missed the catch on the way down. The patty landed on the floor with a wet _splat_. The girl picked it up with an ungloved hand, glanced at the trash can, thought it over, then tossed the patty back onto the grill, where it landed with a hiss.

Valerie slunk down a little in her chair.

Danny swallowed hard thinking about all the patties he'd eaten at the Nasty Burger, and all the shoes that had crossed its floor. Maybe Sam was onto something with the whole ultra-recyclo-vegetarian thing.

"_Now I know how people feel in a maternity ward,_" Tucker whispered excitedly. "_Witness the miracle…_"

As the camera panned over the grill, a rat could be seen scurrying near the wall. "Oh my lord," Monique whispered.

"Was that a rat?" Lancer asked, leaning closer to the screen.

"Shh!" Tucker hissed, his eyes glazed over with joy in his video.

Cheddar oozed over the Mighty Meaty Cheesy Melt, and then the camera panned over to the vat of fried cheese, up which some kind of bug was climbing.

"Gross!" Ron gasped in a stage whisper.

As the class watched in horror, the bug seemed to look around, then leapt into the cheese.

"Eeeeeek!" the class squealed. The jocks each held up a sign rating the bug's dive—2.3 from Dash, 3.0 from Kwan.

Tucker continued his narration. "_Listen to that soothing sound—the bubbling of heated cheese._"

"Tuck, didn't you see any of this?" Danny asked incredulously.

"You bet!" Tucker said. "Isn't it great?"

The camera zoomed into a tray full of food. "_And now, we can take our spoils to a seating area and enjoy them fully._" The camera panned to the tables and booths and focused, where a girl could be seen pulling a long hair out of her fries with a horrified look on her face.

"_Thank you, Nasty Burger!_" Tucker's narration continued. "_You make life in Amity Park a better place_."

The credits began to roll, accompanied by the Nasty Burger jingle. Danny felt like he'd swallowed a hairball.

Lancer had turned a bilious shade of puce; he took his place at the front of the class rather unsteadily. "Well, Mr. Foley, while I think you misunderstood the point of the assignment, I also think this was an expose long in coming."

"If I—I mean, that _mascot_ loses their job, you're dead, Foley!" Valerie hissed.

"I'm going to throw up," Monique muttered.

"Your…er…editing was very crisp, Mr. Foley," Lancer stammered. "And your appreciation of your subject is…_apparent_…I don't see any problem with awarding you a B-plus…"

"Woohoo!" Tucker crowed.

The bell sounded especially abrasive against the tension in the room; Lancer looked relieved as he called, "Class dismissed!" and beat a hasty retreat to the teacher's lounge.

* * *

Late that night, Danny was at his computer, focused intently on _Chip's Challenge_, when a window popped up on his screen. _GhostBoy, NightGirl_ _is sending you a message. Do you wish to receive?_

Danny smiled at the familiar name and clicked "Yes". A webcam link opened to reveal Sam, her face scrubbed free of makeup as if she were ready for bed, violet eyes blinking sleepily as she smiled at him.

"_Ready for your big day tomorrow?_" she laughed.

"It's _your_ big day too," Danny countered. "You're the star."

She snorted. "_Oh, please. Don't blame **me**_ _when you get an F._"

Danny grinned. "Trust me, Sam. I've got the best video in the class."

"_How were the **other**_ _videos?_" Sam asked. "_Any good?_"

"Yeah," Danny said. "They were good. Kwan's was pretty funny, actually, and Valerie's was awesome. She did an entire aerial view of Amity Park from her jet sled."

"_It's about time she put that sled to good use!_" Sam laughed appreciatively. "_I wish I'd seen that. I heard I missed Tucker's, too._"

"Be glad you missed Tucker's," Danny said, cringing at the memory. "You'd have thrown up."

As it turned out, Sam wasn't so lucky. Another window popped up on Danny's screen, blocking her face. _GhostBoy, FriarTuck is sending you a message. Do you wish to receive?_

"_Hang on a sec, Danny. Tucker's sending me a message,_" Sam said.

"You, too?" Danny asked. He clicked "Yes" and Tucker's panicked face filled the webcam window.

"**_Worst case scenario!_**" the techno-geek screamed. "**_Worst case scenario!_**"

"_Tucker, what's wrong?_" Sam asked, having opened Tucker's webcam window on her screen, too. They'd often had conversations between the three of them like this.

In his window, Tucker covered his eyes with one hand. "**_I'm sending you guys a link. Watch it and then HELP me figure out how to stay alive._**"

Danny clicked the link and opened a new window for it, jockeying the mouse around his screen so he could see both it and his two friends. Sam seemed to be doing the same; she smiled suddenly as she saw whatever it was. "_Hey, Tucker, is this your video essay? Cool! I was hoping I'd get to—_" The goth's face slid from happy to shocked. "_Is that a **rat**?_"

Danny turned his attention to the new window he'd opened the link in. Sure enough, there was Tucker's video essay, in all its accidentally disgusting glory. He read the header of the web site in disbelief. "Tucker, you put your video essay on _YouTube_?! Lancer's going to _kill_ you for this!"

"I **_didn't do it,_**" Tucker protested.hotly. "**_I may be stupid, but I'm not THAT stupid!_**"

"_This stupid YouTube thing is always causing trouble,_" Sam groused. "_Don't these people care about intellectual property and copyright violations?_"

"**_I think it's pretty obvious that they DON'T_**," Tucker growled. "**_Danny's right. When Lancer finds out about this, I'm history._**"

"_Maybe Lancer won't find out,_" Sam said hopefully, but the boys immediately snorted their disbelief.

"It's not your fault, Tuck," Danny sighed, reading the text beneath the YouTube listing. "If we explain to Lancer what happened, maybe he won't be too hard on you. After all, it's pretty obvious that you didn't do this. You're the Nasty Burger's biggest cheerleader. You wouldn't have called the video 'The Nastiest Place on Earth'."

"**_My poor Nasty Burger!_**" Tucker was practically hysterical with rage. "**_When Valerie finds out about this, she'll be so mad. I promised her nothing would go wrong, and we were getting along so well._**"

Sam sighed, looking genuinely concerned. "_Tucker, don't worry. If Valerie's really your friend, she'll understand._"

Tucker was not convinced. "**_Have you shot your bolt, Sam? She blames Danny for that time her dad lost his job and now she wants to KILL him. Can you imagine what she'll do to ME if I make her lose HER job?_**"

Danny tried to back Sam up. "It's just the internet, Tuck. How bad could it be?"

"**_JUST the internet?!_** **_Have we forgotten Janet Jackson at the Super Bowl? PARIS HILTON?!"_**

An eerie silence settled over cyberspace.

"You're right. You're doomed," Danny sighed.

"**_I know!_**" Tucker howled. "**_This is my last night ALIVE_**."

After a few more minutes of silence, Danny suggested, "Speaking of _Doomed_, you guys want to play a couple rounds before Lancer or Valerie finds Tucker?"

"_You're on, GhostBoy_," Sam laughed. "_What about you, FriarTuck? You in_?"

Tucker smiled wryly, unable to help being jollied out of his bad mood by his best friends. "**_Okay, but I get the first key. After all, I'm the one who's REALLY doomed!_**"

* * *

Let's face it. When you're a ghost, there's not a whole hell of a lot you can do to keep yourself amused without causing trouble. You can sometimes throw objects around and make spooky noises, or overshadow a student and try to hook up with the kind of person who wouldn't give you the time of day in high school. Once you had all the time in the world to do anything you wanted, you really had to rack your spectral brain to come up with something you really wanted to do. 

Which was why most spirits, confused as to how to feel about their afterlife, became stuck in the same mood they were in when their spirits departed the living world. And when you died in a bad mood, you could be extremely petty. Hence the reason that a lot of ghosts, especially the ones that haunted Amity Park, were…

…well, completely immature.

Case in point—somewhere in the airy depths of cyberspace, a spirit wrapped in a bundle of code sniggered evilly at his own cleverness; he'd just played the best prank he'd come up with in weeks. Just because one was a spectral megalomaniacal genius didn't mean that _everything_ had to be about world domination, after all, and when he'd stumbled on some pretty damning video evidence of a local fast-food chain in the Recycle Bin of a Casper High computer, he'd just _had_ to post it somewhere it could horrify the residents of Amity Park. And where better than the internet?

Sometimes, it was just fun to mess with people.

The spirit's evil snigger gave way to a full-fledged cackle as he watched the hit counter on his YouTube video climb into the quadruple digits after just a few hours of being online. "_I am Technus!_" the ghost exulted. "_Master of all online slander and smear campaigns!_ _MOOHAHAHAHAHAH!"

* * *

_

**Author's Notes:**

More Duran Duran (sighs happily). **_Is There Something I Should Know_** is one of the most commonly misnamed songs the band has ever written, a fact which irks me (it is **_NOT_** called "Please Please Tell Me Now"). It was the only additional song on the 1981 album _Duran Duran _when it was released in the US in 1983.

My cell phone rings to **Ministry's** **_Every Day Is Halloween_** (when it's not ringing the _Danny Phantom_ theme song), so I decided to give that particular goth jam to Sam, too. That song will never be anything but awesome. There's several places to find it—I currently have it on the Suicide Girls' CD _Black Heart Retrospective_, along with a lot of other really great songs.

Lancer's literary reference for this chapter is **_The Devil Wears Prada_ **by Lauren Weisberger, which is a much better book than it was a movie, but maybe I just really don't care for Anne Hathaway's acting.

It's evidenced in canon that Dash secretly likes to watch **soap operas**, so I couldn't resist a reference to **_All My Biceps_**, the top-rated FairyWorld soap opera, starring Wanda's "somehow hotter" sister Blonda—who, as far as I know, still hasn't won a Zappy for it!

I absolutely can't _stand_ **Nicholas Sparks'** writing, especially **_The Notebook_**. It's all too smarmy for me. But given that Dash likes soap operas, I thought it might be funny if he secretly read Sparks, too. There aren't any big words for him to get stuck on or anything either. XD

**Dumpty** **Humpty** is one of Team Phantom's favorite bands. Their music is referenced in _Kindred Spirits_, and the band themselves make an appearance in _Reality Trip _as well as _Shades of Gray_, if I'm not mistaken.

The **Bowflex** was an exercise machine that was advertised by strange commercials featuring neon-lit close-ups of muscles. They were totally creepy.

Dash refers to Danny as "Fenton Tarantino" and "Fenton Night Shyamalan" in this chapter, referencing **Quentin Tarantino** (whose movies I adore, right down to the script for _True Romance_ that he sold to finance _Reservoir Dogs_) and **M. Night Shyamalan** (who I really think is a one-trick pony; sure, _The Sixth Sense_ was a great trick, but you can only do it ONCE), who Danny mocks by poking fun at the now-patented Shyamalan "twist".

Also, Tucker shows his distaste (and mine) for **Joel Schumacher's **ostentatious campiness in the third and fourth _Batman_ films (_Batman Forever_ and _Batman and Robin_, respectively). Not that those films aren't enjoyable for their cheesiness, but when it comes to dark and quixotic filmmaking, like any good goth girl, **Tim Burton **is my main man.

Even if you think you haven't heard David Rose's **_Holiday For Strings_**, you have. Either in an infomercial, or in the background of the _Ren_ _and Stimpy Show_, but you've definitely heard it somewhere.

The Nasty Burger does not serve **Slurpsters** in canon. However, Bueno Nacho in Middleton--home of more of my animated friends, Kim Possible, Ron Stoppable, and Rufus--does.

Let's see what I remember from **screenwriting:**  
**Jump cut **means to switch abruptly between different parts of a scene, usually in the interest of saving time by "skipping" extraneous footage. **Smash cut** is when the scene switches abruptly from one locale to the next (usually favored in slasher films just as the homicidal maniac is about to stab the screaming victim. He raises the knife high, and—smash cut to a brightly lit high school hallway or parking lot…you get the idea). **Dissolve to** means to fade from one scene to the next—not the same thing as a **fade in to**, which involves fading to black before switching scenes.

**The screen names: **In the DP episode _Teacher of the Year_ (which I love!), Danny's screen name when he's playing _Doomed_ is **GhostBoy** and Tucker's is **FriarTuck**, if we're to believe Sam when she reveals herself to be the player that's been kicking their butts, Chaos. In the Playstation2 game _Nicktoons: Battle for Volcano Island _(which I also love), the weird hermit-crab guy refers to her as the "**Night Girl".**

The last piece of this chapter is a scratch of my claws at the people who've been illegally posting the DP episodes that haven't been aired in the US yet on **YouTube**. I wish people would show some respect—Mr. Hartman and his staff worked very hard on those episodes, and pirating them is not okay. If these people are truly fans of the show, they'll be patient enough to wait until they're aired in the US. These are the same people, I'm sure, who are busy screaming their heads off if someone steals their art off DeviantART or their fics off here. I refuse to watch the new episodes until they're aired in the US, and it really burns my brush when people are disrespectful, so that's my way of saying "Grr" to that.

The video of **Janet Jackson's wardrobe malfunction** was one of the most searched-for videos on the internet at the time of the Super Bowl—but it still wouldn't beat **Paris Hilton's** tape of indiscretion. I never saw the former and would never watch the latter, and I'd like to keep it that way.

Lastly, me and my best friend LOVED to play **_Chip's Challenge_** back in the 90s. We would sit at the computer for hours playing! sighs happily. Those were the days.

If anyone's still on this ride, I am appreciative and happy to have you along! Meanwhile, I already have a bunch of notes not only for chapter seven of this story, but for a fic I want to write after this one. (Does anyone know the canon way to spell "Jazmine"?...)

**Next chapter: **Danny's video is finally screened, and all hell breaks loose. Not necessarily in that order.


	7. Our Hearts Begin To Pound Again

**Author's Introduction:**

Well, this surprised even me, but this isn't the last chapter of this story. Apparently, there's a whole lot more going on than I originally thought, and so there's a little more to tell. Hope you guys have fun with this!

* * *

_**Eye of the Beholder**_

_A Danny Phantom fanfiction

* * *

_

**Chapter Seven: Our Hearts Begin To Pound Again**

_I never could explain it, or even try to name it  
__All I feel whenever I'm alone with you  
__But there's a certain sweetness  
__I find a true completeness deep inside  
__That never goes away whatever we do  
__We stop, we start, we fight it, but we lose  
__It's always so confusing  
__Cause_ _at that moment, you hug and kiss me goodbye, like a friend  
__Our hearts begin to pound again_

**(_Back In Love,_ from the soundtrack to _El-Hazard: The Magnificent World_)

* * *

**

Amity Park slept.

It was a moonless night, and the stars shone all the brighter for it, twinkling benevolently down on the rooftops and windowpanes of the slumbering town.

Amity Park dreamed.

* * *

Danny's love for Sam was most evident in a place no one but him would ever see it—his dreams.

Most people would have considered Danny's dreams frighteningly ordinary. He dreamt of lying in the Casper High quad during lunch hour, his head pillowed in her lap, her fingers traversing absently through his hair. He dreamt of watching movies with her on the sofa in his living room, snuggling under a shared blanket. He dreamt of taking her on dates, real dates, of goodnight kisses that were delicious promises of a deeper closeness to come.

And sometimes, he dreamt of the closeness they already had. Like tonight. Just beyond the peaceful night, the atrocities of school and the stress of ghost-hunting waited, but tonight, Danny was flying over Amity Park with Sam in his arms, held close against his chest until the only sound in his ears was the whistling wind and a shared heartbeat.

Danny shifted in his sleep, the faintest smile on his lips.

* * *

Across town, someone else was smiling in their sleep. In her dreams, Sam was playing hide and seek with Danny on the streets of Amity Park. No matter who was hiding and who was seeking, they always managed to find one another, happier to see each other every time.

If Mrs. Manson had looked in on her daughter, she'd have been amazed at the expression of simple joy on Sam's face.

* * *

If you had asked the students of Casper High, they would have said that Mr. Lancer was stodgy, uncompromising, and by-the-book. However, the students looked on their teacher with the jaundiced eye of those who had suffered his detentions and punishments; their analysis wasn't entirely true.

Yes, Lancer was by-the-book. He was stodgy, and uncompromising. But a vivid imagination lurked in that bald head, and right now it was leading him on a journey through a literal Faerieland…

_The forest was alive with the rustle of trees and the dapple of shadows. Starlight carved everything into high relief and cups of dark. As Lancer looked up, the brightest star above began its fiery descent from the night sky. _

_The star sped closer and closer, and then screeched to a stop right in front of Lancer's startled face, revealing it to be not a star at all, but a six-inch humanoid figure haloed in scarlet light. It tossed long hair from a delicately beautiful face, the motion throwing colors back like a prism, and fluttered iridescent dragonfly's wings behind its slender back. _

_The pixie flitted back and forth past his wide eyes, then grabbed the end of his tie and pulled, leading him further into the whispering forest._

_Spellbound, Lancer followed the pixie to a clearing bathed in pale starlight. A throne woven of gnarled tree limbs and creeping vines overlooked the grassy floor, and a figure perched upon the wood. All other thoughts were forgotten as he gazed upon her grace, her shining. Her hair rippled like liquid gold down her back, throwing warmth onto her pale skin, and her wide, clear eyes were a sharp, almost startled green. Lancer sank to one knee, recognizing her happy fair immediately—only one so beautiful could rule the Summer Court of Faerie. _

_But why would Titania, Seelie Queen of all Summer, be dressed in rags?_

_It was true. Her gorgeous body was wrapped in tattered burlap, and she curled herself to one side modestly as those grass-green eyes glared down at him. _

"_You promised me," she hissed. "You promised me that I would be beautiful, that I would be arrayed in sunlight and warmth!"_

"_My Queen," Lancer said, "I have not forgotten my promise. I have found someone who can spin the magic you require. She only needs to be convinced to aid us."_

_Titania_ _seemed to calm a bit, her posture easing on her woodland throne. "Who is this mageling? Why do I not know of one so powerful in my realm? Does she serve Winter?"_

_Lancer thought grimly that if the girl he spoke of served any season, it would be Air and Darkness itself—Winter. "My Queen, she does not reside in either Court, but beyond Faerie in the mortal realm."_

_Titania's soft lips curved in a smile. "If she is a mortal, then she will trade her skills for power. They all fall to the same bargains eventually."_

_Lancer sighed. "My lady, this mortal is stubborn, and does not often exercise even the power she has. Moreover, she is served by a most loyal knight, and he will not allow any glamour or trickery near her."_

_Another shift in posture and Titania was once again the petulant child. "I am the Queen Who Is," she cried. "You have promised me finery for our upcoming festivities. You must convince this mortal girl to spin her magic. The power I give you and the trust I place in you is a match for any strong knight, any willful heart. You must fulfill your promise to me!"_

_Titania_ _held out her hand, thumb and ring finger bent. Pixies swarmed to her in a rainbow of flickering lights. "Assist my knight," she called. "Lead him to this mageling. Do not return until your aim is fulfilled!"_

_Dazedly, Lancer followed the kaleidoscopic pixies through the dark wood, desperate to please his Queen._

_He stumbled upon the focus of his search in a shadowed glen. Samantha Manson, clothed in the gown she'd sewn in home economics, sat at a loom, weaving cobwebs and starlight together skillfully. Yes, this was the magic he needed._

"_You again," Sam said scornfully, turning her attention to him, her fingers never stopping their work on the loom. "Deader than an icicle in hell, remember?"_

"_Ms. Manson," Lancer implored. "I beg of you. I __**need**__ your help. I must serve my Queen."_

"_And I serve mine," a new voice said, and like one of the ghosts that haunted Amity Park, Danny Fenton appeared out of nowhere, a smug grin on his face. "Want me to run him off for you?" he asked Sam._

"_No, he can show himself out," Sam said, her grin just as smug. "Can't you, Mr. Lancer?"_

"_We are prepared to bargain for your services," Lancer said._

_Sam laughed. "Bargain with a faerie? Mr. Lancer, better warriors than me have died trying. Sometimes, inspiration isn't worth the price your muse will charge. Listen!" Like an audio aid, hounds could be heard baying in the distance. "Leanansidhe rides, and here you are with **no** finery for your Summer Queen, no weapon of iron to protect you, and not a baby in sight to trade for your freedom…" The goth's eyes sparkled wickedly. "I'd start running if I were you."_

"_**Scorpion**__ girl," he hissed. "This is not over. You've not seen the last of me—__**Mr. Lancer**__!" _

_And with that, he turned and bolted into the forest, the hounds getting ever closer and Sam's triumphant laughter ringing just beyond.

* * *

_

Lancer woke with a start, his copy of _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ falling off his chest and tumbling to the floor, where it closed with a _thump_.

He rubbed hastily at his eyes, shuddering, a cold sweat breaking out over his bald head. "Damn," he hissed. Nightmares again.

Mr. Lancer hadn't been sleeping well the past two weeks. When he'd signed up to direct the drama club's winter production of _A Midsummer Night's Dream_, he'd had no idea of the trouble he'd gotten himself into. The sets weren't done, the actors didn't know their lines, and he had _no_ idea where he was going to get the costumes. Approaching Principal Ishiyama about renting them ended in dismal failure and a long lecture about the Board of Education's budget cuts. Much as he'd hated to do it, Lancer had turned to his arch-rival, Mrs. Tetschlav, to see if he could enlist the home economics class to help, but of course, Tetschlav had gleefully refused to change her lesson plan in order to accommodate all the extra sewing. However, there was no rule that said he couldn't approach the students and try to get them to volunteer on their own. But Lancer was not good at getting people to volunteer for things—it was so much easier, he lamented, to catch them in trouble and just make it their punishment to do what was needed.

Sam Manson, and her rather romantic sewing technique, was his only remaining hope. And she also seemed to be taking a perverse delight in refusing to assist him.

Lancer loved William Shakespeare, and he loved the theater. What he didn't love was how badly the drama club was doing in their _Midsummer_ rehearsals. He knew, he just _knew_ that if they only looked the part, they'd grasp the material so much better. But he'd hit a dead-end, and every time he closed his eyes he heard the faerie hounds baying for his blood…

He lay down again, closing his weary eyes and hoping for one of those nonsensical dreams in which people threw hula hoops at each other and ate ice cream that never seemed to melt.

* * *

They marched.

They marched not with torch and pitchfork, but with picket signs and raised fists. They were clothed not in chain mail and armor, but in PETA t-shirts, ponchos, peasant blouses, shirts emblazoned with the insignia of the Dave Mathews Band and Darwin fishes. The ground shuddered under the tramp-tramp-tramp of Birkenstocks.

The kid at the Nasty Drive-Thru slowly lowered his headset. "They are coming," he said quietly to his comrades, in the voice of one who sees his own death approaching and knows he is powerless to stop it.

The other Nasty employees moved like chain lightning. The fry-o-later girl held a basket of boiling oil at the ready, in case anyone breached the perimeter, while the cashiers threw themselves at the doors, locking them. The mascot remained outside, giving his fellow defenders a slow, determined nod. Then he turned towards the oncoming army and prepared to sacrifice himself, padded gloves at the ready.

The chanting began. "_N-A-S-T-Y!_ _You ain't got no alibi…_" Signs that said "Down with the Nasty Burger" and "One Health Code Violation Too Many" waved in anger.

The Nasty cashiers dove for Condiment Island, searching for hot sauce to use as a desperation weapon.

Meanwhile, the kid working Drive-Thru began taking orders from the loyal customers who forced their cars through the angry mob outside. The show must go on.

* * *

Sam looked at the skirt she'd laid out on her bed. It was the best thing she'd sewn in home ec so far; her stitches were small and neat and the design was pretty creative, in her opinion. It would _really_ impress Mrs. Tetschlav if she were able to wear it all day without ruining it, and just showed up to class wearing it, Sam reasoned.

And, of course, there might be fringe benefits to that, as Valerie had teasingly pointed out. "_Maybe you can model it for __**Danny**__…"_

For a while, Sam had thought she was imagining things. She could never remember the exact moment it had happened, but somewhere along the line her best friend's smile had begun to do things to her heart rate. She could pick out his individual laugh in a crowd; she was attuned to his moods as if they were her own. When he was sad, she felt it just as sharply; and when he was happy, so was she. Even after all these years, she still woke up looking forward to the day because Danny was there.

In the beginning, she'd tried studiously to ignore the way her blood bubbled when he was near. She came up with a variety of excuses—hormones, the tension that existed between people who spent a lot of time together, her admiration of his abilities—but she'd finally admitted that she was only fooling herself. It was _him_—it was so much deeper than how he looked or what he could do.

And when she and Tucker had heard the sizzle of electricity and smelled the scent of ozone in that portal and known that something wasn't right, Tucker had had to grab her to stop her from running blindly in after Danny. She'd known that if anything had happened to him her life would be bereft and cold.

Maybe that was the moment, she reasoned. Maybe it was then that she'd known it was too late—she loved him, and that was that.

She'd done passably well keeping it all inside—at least, she thought she had; there were some days that she felt like her feelings were stamped on her forehead, that everyone knew except Danny.

But lately…

Lately, she'd wondered if maybe he held onto her a little longer when they hugged. He seemed to edge closer to her when they sat or walked side by side, the line of his body touching hers in a casual closeness that made her stomach flutter. He was _always_ tickling her, playfully wrestling with her on some pretense—stealing the last snacky cake from her, trying to get more room on the sofa during movie night, that sort of thing.

And ever since he'd asked her to be the subject of his video essay, he'd amped the contact up to ten. All the kind words and compliments and that sweet, secret smile…the feather-light touch of his fingers on her waist as he teased her, called her beautiful…the way he'd swept her into his arms to carry her home, smiling so surely at her.

It was all so sweet, so intimate, so…so much more than what friends did. If she hadn't known better, she'd have said he was…_flirting_ with her.

She'd warned herself not to get her hopes up, that he was _Danny_, lovable but clueless, oblivious as always. But the idea that he might be waking up, that it might be possible—she couldn't help the way her pulse picked up and her chest tightened with a longing she'd been repressing for way too long. And the truth was, she _loved_ how playful he was being, how he was pushing the boundaries lately. She wanted to play, too—wanted to show him how she liked what he was doing.

And she thought she knew how to start.

* * *

Danny slid into the Mustang's passenger seat, slinging his backpack down to the floor at his feet. "Hey," he said cheerfully.

"Morning," Sam said, greeting him with a smile that spilled all the way up into her eyes. She shifted the Mustang into drive, and Danny's eyes followed the movement—

—and nearly fell out of his head.

"Something wrong?" Sam asked, a bit of a teasing edge to her voice.

Trying not to look like a drooling wolf, Danny laughed—then hated how nervous it sounded. "Not for me, but maybe we should turn around—I think you forgot your skirt!"

Sam laughed out loud, as if he'd said exactly what she wanted him to say. "It's my home-ec project."

Danny tried unsuccessfully to tear his eyes away from the sheer spiderweb that covered her thigh—well, a small part of her thigh. "Maybe _I_ should have taken home ec."

"Why? Do you think it would look better on you?" Sam's eyes were dancing.

His eyes hooded themselves and his voice was softer, more serious as he said, "Definitely not."

The Mustang pulled up the curb in front of Tucker's house, and Danny was treated to yet another gearshift, her arm giving a teasing glimpse of not only the spiderweb but of the tempting expanse of thigh that the skirt didn't cover.

Sam beeped the horn as Tucker appeared at the door. "Tuck! Come on!" she called.

The techno-geek slid into the backseat. "How come you never come to my house first?" he teased, reaching over the seat and pulling gently on Sam's little ponytail. "I always have to sit in the back."

"There's no special benefits to riding up front," Sam laughed.

"That's what you think," Danny murmured, still checking out her skirt in his peripheral vision.

"Hm?" Sam said, shifting the car into drive again.

"What are you looking at?" Tucker asked.

"Nothing," Danny said quickly, forcing his eyes front.

"So, Tuck, how'd you sleep last night?" she asked.

"Horribly," Tucker sighed. "I had nightmares that Valerie threw me into the fry-o-lator. I hope she didn't see that YouTube thing."

"I don't think a lot of people saw it, Tuck," Danny said encouragingly.

In truth, Danny couldn't have been more wrong, and Team Phantom was blissfully ignorant of what was going on at the Nasty Burger.

Unfortunately, Valerie wasn't.

* * *

Valerie double-knotted the laces on her white sneakers, carefully chewing on a piece of toast that she held in her mouth with her teeth. Getting to her feet, she called a goodbye to her dad and headed for the little blue Geo that was parked in front of her home. Glancing at the radio clock as she turned the key in the ignition, she saw she had a little time before she had to get to school. _I'll just swing by work and pick up my paycheck_, she decided. _Then I can cash it on my way home from school, no sweat_.

If Valerie could have seen what was waiting for her at the Nasty Burger, the words "no sweat" would have been the last thing on her mind.

* * *

Sam maneuvered the Mustang into a parking space and turned off the engine. She reached her hand back to Tucker, and he gave her her spider backpack, which had been carefully buckled in beside him in the backseat. Slinging it over her shoulder, she got out of the car.

Danny tried to find a comfortable middle distance to stare into, but that skirt was impossible to ignore, especially now that she was standing up.

The design was very simple—a black miniskirt, a bit shorter than the skirts she usually wore. The black fabric was slit up her right thigh and replaced with sheer fabric with a spiderweb print. Coupled with her favorite combat boots and her trademark black camisole, the outfit was enough to give a guy ideas.

And she was so Sam. She didn't pose, didn't make any sign that she felt his eyes on her; she simply strode confidently past him and Tucker, not looking back as she called, "Come on, guys, let's go!"

Tucker somehow managed to control his facial expression until Sam turned away. "Wow," he said, eyes wide, voice an impressed whisper. "I've got to hand it to Sam. She sure knows how to get a guy's attention!"

Danny schooled his face into a serious expression. "A woman's most fascinating feature is her mind, Tuck."

Tucker laughed. "And that is one _wicked_ skirt Sam's mind came up with."

Sam had meandered back to them by now. "Why are you guys hanging back like that?"

"The better to see you with, my dear," Tucker said smoothly. "That skirt is kickin'."

"I'll kick _you_," Sam said playfully, swatting at her friend.

Danny sometimes envied Tucker for his ability to tease Sam. Since Tucker and Sam were nothing more than the best of friends, the techno-geek was able to make suggestive comments without being embarrassed or worrying that he'd go too far and offend her.

"You know, if a guy saw you in that skirt he might start thinking things," Tucker continued, eyes twinkling. "I mean, Sam, you're throwing yourself at us here."

"I'm throwing myself at an A in home ec, Tuck," Sam laughed.

Tucker pretended to pout. "How come girls never throw themselves at me?"

Like an audiovisual aid, pounding footsteps barely warned them of another person's approach—and then Valerie slammed into Tucker, eyes wide, chest heaving.

Danny and Sam froze in place, caught by surprise. The techno-geek and the ghost hunter stumbled in a graceless half-circle; Tucker managed to brace himself against the sudden weight and keep them both upright.

"Why, Valerie," he joked, "this is all so sudden, but how can I resist when you're wearing my favorite scent?"

Valerie had regained some of her breath by this time. "It's…not…_perfume_, dork…head," she wheezed. "It's Nasty Sauce."

"That _is_ my favorite scent," Tucker said, leaning closer to sniff her hair. She gave him a shove. Her white sleeveless top had dark red blotches all over it, and some of her hair seemed to be hardening under the goo as well. Even her sneakers were stained. Perfume, Nasty Sauce, whatever, she was _coated_ in it.

"Why are you covered in Nasty Sauce?" Danny asked.

"Are you hurt?" Sam added.

Val looked grateful at the other two teens for having a better grasp of the situation than Tucker. "I don't know what happened," she said. "I got up early and thought I'd swing by work to pick up my paycheck. The next thing I know a crowd of protestors toss a bucket of Nasty Sauce on me and start calling me names."

The expression of guilt that crossed Tucker's face was almost cute.

"Come on, Val," Sam sighed. "Want to go get cleaned up? I'll go with you to the locker room."

"Thanks," Valerie said. "You can guard the door while I shower. Come with me to my locker so I can get my gym bag? I've got more clothes in there."

Sam nodded at the boys. "See you guys later."

"Nice skirt," Valerie said as they rounded the corner.

"Thanks! I made it," Sam said, her voice full of pride. And then they were gone.

Danny and Tucker each let out a huge breath they'd been holding, each for different reasons.

"I guess Val _didn't_ see my video after all," Tucker said. "Now I just have to make sure she _never_ sees it."

"Sam did a great job on that skirt," Danny sighed. "She'll definitely get out of her practical, and Lancer will let her crash our class and see _my_ video. Then…"

The two boys exchanged pained glances. "It's going to be a _long_ day."

* * *

Sam leaned against the locker room door until she felt someone knock on the door from the other side.

"Okay," Sam called, and took her weight away from the door. Valerie emerged in a change of clothes, shaking her wet hair out. "Thanks, Manson."

"No big," Sam said. "Feel better?"

"Yeah." Valerie tossed her towel into the bin and the girls walked out of the locker room. "I have no idea what the hell was going on at the Nasty Burger this morning."

Sam tried to change the subject, knowing Tucker wouldn't want her to tell. "Heard your video essay got the best grade in the class," she threw out. "Way to go."

A genuine, good-spirited grin crossed Valerie's face. "Thanks. I worked really hard on it. I think everyone was really impressed." Then her expression turned sly. "Fenton's up today. You nervous?"

"Why would I be nervous?" Sam laughed. "It's just a video about what I do all day."

Valerie smirked. "I don't know, Sam. You might get a surprise."

Sam frowned as Valerie opened her locker and threw her gym bag in. "What do you mean?"

Valerie just shook her head, pawing through the books on her locker shelves. "Don't worry. You'll see."

"I intend to," Sam said, swishing her skirt. "If I get a good enough grade on this, I'll be excused from my practical today. I'm going to ask Lancer if he'll let me sit in on your class."

Valerie arched a dark brow, intrigued. "Really? Does Danny know you're going to do that?"

"It was his idea," Sam said.

"Wow," Valerie said, looking impressed. "Fenton's really playing hardball here. Good for him."

Sam was thoroughly confused, but before she could ask any more questions, the bell rang. Valerie cursed and slammed her locker door. "Thanks for guarding the door, Manson. See you in English, okay?"

"Valerie!" Sam called as the ghost hunter started to jog down the hall, her voice more uncertain than the other girl had ever heard it. "Am I going to _like_ this video?"

Valerie turned to throw a smile in the other girl's direction. "I can't _wait_ to see your face!"

* * *

Lunch couldn't come fast enough for Danny. Sam had been walking ahead of him in the halls all day, crossing one leg over the other in class as she wrote notes. She'd been teasing him all day, that flirty skirt, those secret smiles—and he was loving every second of it, but he couldn't come up with a response. He'd been racking his brains the entire morning for the perfect way to show her that he loved what she was doing.

He yawned in the quad, unable to help it. Tucker followed suit. "Me too, man. We shouldn't have stayed up so late playing _Doomed_."

Sam was sitting between them, skirt arranged modestly over her thighs. She was sipping cherry Coke through a straw, looking a little drowsy herself.

"Is that skirt comfortable, Sam?" Danny asked suddenly.

She blinked, the question catching her off-guard. "Yes. Why?"

"Good." He stretched out on the grass, laying his head in her lap, noting her sharp little intake of breath.

Tucker winked at Sam. "I'm too slow, man. He gets to ride shotgun, he gets to sleep in your lap…"

Sam blushed, but played it as cool as she could. "Maybe Danny just likes my skirt."

"It _is_ comfortable," Danny murmured, opening one eye and smiling.

Sam's straw scraped at the bottom of the can. "Tuck, would you go in my bag and hand me the other can?"

"Sure thing." Tucker leaned over and retrieved Sam's bag. "Gimme your straw."

* * *

Mr. Lancer steeled his nerves and stepped out into the early afternoon sunlight. He was the most feared teacher at Casper High (although Mrs. Tetschlav would have debated that fact), he told himself. He was not afraid of a girl, no matter how spooky she dressed.

When he managed to locate Sam Manson in the quad, his stomach lurched. She was holding court regally in a small corner of the quad. Daniel Fenton was reclining in her embrace, head pillowed in her lap; Tucker Foley was handing her a drink, complete with straw.

The dream faerieland of the night before flashed across his brain, and he almost retreated. Then he reminded himself that he was Mr. Lancer, and he had a responsibility to the Seelie Queen of Summer to array her—or, rather, the high-school actress who would play her part—in finery worthy of her title. Steeling himself, he strode across the grass to confront his adversary. "Ms. Manson."

"Mr. Lancer!" Sam exclaimed, rearing up from her relaxed position and throwing Danny off her lap.

The boy frowned at being disturbed. "Hey, Sam, what's wrong? I thought we were comf—" Looking up, he noticed Lancer's stern gaze and blushed. "Oh. H-hey, Mr. Lancer. Nice day, isn't it?"

"Want a soda, Mr. Lancer?" Tucker said cheerfully, another can of cherry Coke in his hand.

Lancer almost smiled at the teens' sudden bashfulness, and Tucker's attempt to divert his attention. "No thank you, Mr. Foley, this is not a social call. I am here to figure out why Ms. Manson flatly refuses to help me with a dilemma I'm tangled in."

Sam's face fell. "Mr. Lancer, _please_. I _hate_ sewing. I'm beating my _brains_ out just trying to pass home ec—I can't sew costumes for the drama club!"

"Oh, come on, Sam," Tucker said. "Sure you could!"

Sam frowned at him. "_Tucker_," she hissed.

The boys were too caught up in pride to realize what she was trying to do. "Did you know she made that skirt she's wearing, Mr. Lancer? She did a nice job, right?"

"_Stop_ it," Sam hissed, swatting at him.

Lancer smirked. "It _is_ quite an improvement from the beginning of the semester. Thank you, boys, you've proved my point."

Sam glared at Danny. "Nice going, guys."

Realizing their mistake, Danny blushed. "Oh…sorry."

"Whoops," Tucker added, smiling nervously.

"Please," Sam sighed. "Please, Mr. Lancer, I just hate to sew. I won't do a good job, and I don't want to ruin your play."

Lancer had never known Sam to be dishonest, and he couldn't keep a stern front up before her sad face. "All right, Sam, but if you change your mind, I'd appreciate it if you let me know."

"I will," Sam promised, looking relieved.

"Hey, Mr. Lancer?" Danny asked. "If Mrs. Tetschlav excuses Sam from her home ec practical, can she come to our class and see my video? Since she's in it, I mean?"

Lancer smiled, having seen some of Danny's footage. "I don't see why not." Turning to Sam, he said, "If you're free that period, just come to my classroom, Sam."

"Cool," she said. "Thanks, Mr. Lancer."

Defeated, Lancer trudged back into the school building. Maybe he wasn't afraid of girls—but dark magelings, that was something else entirely.

* * *

Sam watched her skirt swish as she walked towards Lancer's classroom. Even Mrs. Tetschlav had had to admit she was impressed, and Sam had been included in the large group of girls who had been excused from the practical due to improvement. So she wasn't really looking where she was going, and ended up walking smack into someone.

"Ow! Hey, watch it, gloom cookie!" Dash Baxter sneered, brushing at his letter jacket. "Don't get _goth_ all over me."

Momentarily startled, Sam regained her composure. "Sorry, Dash. I wasn't looking where I was going."

"You don't _have _class on this side of the building right now," Dash said. "What are you even _doing_ here?"

Sam smiled. "I'm going to your class to watch the video essays. Danny's showing the one he filmed about my daily routine today."

Dash arched a blond brow. "Daily routine?"

"Yeah," Sam said. "He followed me around with a camera and filmed what I do all day. Isn't that what the videos are about?"

Dash blinked, and then his mouth twisted in a sneer and he laughed. "Oh, _man_. You're even dumber than you look."

Sam felt her heart knock hollowly against her breastbone. "What? What is it?"

Dash's grin was nasty. "If Fenton Polanski told you that the videos were about people's routines, then he lied to you. That's not what they're about at all."

A dark suspicion was rising in Sam's mind. After all, Valerie had been so cagey this morning about Danny's video, as if she knew something Sam didn't…and whenever she'd asked Danny about the video, he'd neatly sidestepped all her questions, being secretive—_spying_ on her!

Willing her blood to stop frothing in her veins, Sam said thickly. "So wait. If they're _not_ about routine—what _are _they about?"

Dash was snickering. "I can't believe Fenton filmed _you _for his essay. He is such a _geek_. I'm going to win this bet for sure!"

"_Bet_?" Sam demanded, rage, frustration and hurt whipping her brain into a thick paste. "If you don't start talking, Dash—"

But the bell rang, interrupting. Dash smirked. "Lights, camera, action," he teased. "I can't _wait _to see your face when you see this, darkqueen. You're going to _flip_—especially at the shot of you in that _pink_ dress!"

"Pink dress…?" Sam was confused. "Paulina's dress from home ec? But how?? I thought I got rid of him before he filmed any of that!"

"Guess not," Dash jeered, loping off.

Sam was boiling hot just listening to it. Was this all some kind of _joke_? No _wonder_ everyone was smiling at her when they talked about it, giggling like Munchkins who knew a secret, waiting, just waiting for oblivious Sam to show up so they could tell her the punch line was her.

How _could_ Danny? How _dare_ he? He'd promised her—he'd _promised_ her! He'd told her everything was going to be all right, and she'd _believed_ him, she'd even thought maybe he was finally starting to wake up…

Hot tears bit at her eyes. She whirled to run in the opposite direction from Lancer's classroom and once again smacked into someone's chest. She barely registered feeling a nervous heartbeat before she realized who it was.

"Hey," Danny laughed nervously. "What's your hurry? I guess you got out of your practical—that's awesome! Ready to go?" Suddenly noticing how flushed she was, his expression faded to concern. "Sam, what's wrong?"

Strength returned to her and she pushed him, hard. "Get _off_ me. It's _you_, it's you, you lying bastard. You're what's wrong! How could you do this to me!"

Danny was thoroughly confused. "What? Sam, what are you talking about?"

"Dash told me that you've been lying to me about the video subjects. What kind of _bet_ are you in with him?" she demanded angrily. "How could you _use_ me like this? Embarrass me in front of _everyone_?"

Danny looked dazed as the chain of events became clear to him. "Sam, listen. Dash is an idiot. Just come with me, you'll see—" He reached for her, but she slapped his hand away, hard.

"I am not going _anywhere_ with you. I have _had_ it with you, Danny Fenton. I don't even want to _look _at you right now." She turned and abruptly stalked down the hall. "You've ruined _everything_, everything!"

He couldn't see her face as she called that last, but it sounded like she was crying.

Danny bolted after her, but only got halfway down the hall. Lancer rounded the corner and blocked his path like a bald messenger of doom. "Halt, Mr. Fenton. Don't think you're getting out of today's video screening."

Danny was winded, nostrils flaring, as if any minute he'd start breathing fire. "My video is perfect, Mr. Lancer. It's the best in the class. But I _have_ to catch up with Sam. There's been a huge misunderstanding."

Lancer looked weary. "Mr. Fenton, it can be argued that your entire relationship with Ms. Manson is a huge misunderstanding. Yet, you both muddle through and come back to each other. I absolutely can't allow you special privileges on a graded assignment. As soon as class is over, you can find Sam and sort everything out. Unless you want Mr. Baxter to win your side bet?"

Rage shot through Danny like a bottle rocket at the sound of his adversary's name. In a flash, he was past Lancer and into the classroom. The overweight, out-of-shape teacher got into the room just in time to hear Danny roar, "_I'm going to __**kill**__ you._"

The classroom was a scene of chaos. Tucker Foley and Valerie Gray were having extreme difficulty keeping a bristling, snarling Danny away from a completely confused Dash Baxter.

"What the hell are you talking about, Fenton?" Dash asked. "Where's your girlfriend? I told her I couldn't wait to see the look on her face when she saw your video!"

Saying that to Danny was like waving a red flag in front of a bull. "You're _dead_!" he growled. "You are so dead. You ruined everything! You are _dead_ when this is over!"

"_Sit down_, Mr. Fenton," Lancer roared, ending the struggle. "All outside conflicts will be dealt with _after class_. The next person who moves will fail this assignment. Is that clear?"

Everyone shuffled to their seats. Dash tried to hide his relief with a sickly little smile—if Fenton had broken Gray's hold, he might actually have been dangerous.

Valerie and Tucker were exchanging confused looks, while Danny buried his head in his arms like a WB drama. Valerie reached to pat his shoulder, but his voice came dark and hateful from the cage of his arms, one word: "Don't."

"This can_not_ get any worse," Tucker murmured to Valerie.

But Tucker had spoken too soon. "Oh, Mr. Foley," Lancer said airily. "Before we begin with the day's videos, would you mind telling me why I found choice clips of _yours_ all over the Internet last night?"

Tucker froze, giving Lancer the classic rabbit-in-the-headlights look.

Valerie gasped, pieces clicking together for her. "Tucker!" she exclaimed. "No _wonder_ people are protesting over at the Nasty Burger!"

"Hey, yeah, I saw that on YouTube last night," Monique giggled. "It's even worse the second time!"

Danny actually looked up from his desk. "Wait," he said. "It's not his fault!"

"I'm _sorry_," Tucker burst out. "I didn't do it! I don't know _how_ it got on YouTube. Honest. If I could find out who did it, I'd like to smack 'em. I worked so hard on that video! They had no right to steal it."

Murmurs of agreement sounded around the classroom.

"You should sue, dude," Kwan said to Tucker.

"Tucker, you're a hero!" Heather said. "Maybe now the Nasty Burger will be brought up to code!"

Tucker pulled his hat down over his face. Danny dropped his head beneath his arms again.

Lancer frowned. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't fail you, Mr. Foley."

"_Wait_ a minute," Valerie said, standing up. "Mr. Lancer, if Tucker made a video about how much he _loves_ the Nasty Burger, why would he put that footage on the Internet? There's a huge protest going on at Nasty Burger right now. I got a bucket of Nasty Sauce thrown on me by some hippies who were upset about the health code violations!"

"Eww," Monique said. "Really?"

"Yeah!" Valerie said. "Tucker wouldn't do that. He loves the Nasty Burger, and he wouldn't do _anything_ to get it shut down or harassed by protesters."

Tucker pulled his hat back up, giving Valerie a wan smile.

Lancer considered this. "Interesting point, Ms. Gray." Leveling a glance at Tucker, he said, "All right, Mr. Foley. You're off the hook for now, but watch your step."

"Watching step, sir!" Tucker said.

As Valerie sat down, Tucker leaned closer to her. "You _rule_."

She smiled. "I owed you."

"Mr. Fenton," Lancer said. "Would you like to come out from behind your arms long enough to see your video?"

"It doesn't matter now," Danny mumbled. "Whatever."

Dash snickered. Bolstered by her victory on behalf of Tucker, Valerie attempted once more to give Danny a pat, and this time he didn't shrug her off.

"Come on, Danny. I'm sure it's a great video," she said. Danny lifted his head, unable to stop a little smile.

"Start 'er up, Mr. Lancer," Tucker said. "Let's see it."

Lancer nodded, dimmed the lights, and Danny's video began.

Danny had agonized over whether or not to use background music in his film. While under most circumstances they'd be required to get the proper permission from BMI or ASCAP to use licensed music in their films, Lancer had told them that the videos would remain in his possession after screening and would not be distributed, so he was willing to turn a blind eye. Still, Danny was hesitant—there was no one song he could select that would be perfect for Sam, could talk about her properly.

In the end, he solved the problem by replacing background music with narration. And who better to tell a story about his beloved Sam than him?

The first shot of the film was of Sam's darkened room. The phone's alarm rang, and she emerged from the canopy to silence it, looking sleep-tousled and adorable. The picture froze as she blinked her long lashes, trying to get her bearings, and his voice came on.

"_This is Samantha Manson. And you're probably not her friend."_

He continued talking as the action cut to Sam, fully dressed and finishing up her preparations for school. As she pulled on her combat boots, Danny's voice continued, "_In fact, you probably don't know anything about her at all."_

The camera followed Sam to her vanity. "_Here's what you do know." _

"_She's goth—"_ Sam fastened her black collar and cuffs.

"_She's pretty—"_ Sam penciled on her black eyeliner.

"_And she hangs out with that Danny Fenton kid all the time."_ Here the scene changed to the front of Sam's house, when he'd propped the camera on the mailbox. The result was a perfect shot of himself and Sam getting into the Mustang. "_You might remember him from that time you tripped him in the lunchroom."_

There were a few giggles, but not unkind ones. Danny smiled a little, remembering how much fun he and Sam had had filming.

Now the camera was on Sam driving. She reached for the dial as he had asked, and the Dumpty Humpty record came on. "_Oh, and she has great taste in music, too."_

A few whoops from Dumpty Humpty fans, including Valerie.

The scene cut to Sam opening her locker and finding her books for the day. "_So that's what you know about Sam."_ The picture froze again as Sam shut her locker. "_Which is basically nothing."_

The camera now focused on Sam in Paulina's horrible pink gown. He hadn't gotten much good footage of that due to being thrown out of the room almost immediately, so the angle was of the camera looking up at Sam from a steep angle.

"_Sam is the kind of person who takes responsibility for her actions. Even when they include dressing like a sofa in front of her entire home-ec class."_ The camera froze on Sam looking particularly mournful. "_It's really something to look cute in a dress as bad as __**this**__ one!"_

More giggles, the loudest ones from people who had seen Paulina's dress before. Mr. Lancer arched a brow.

The camera unfroze, and Sam's face darkened in fury. "_Sam's also the kind of person who'll tell you exactly what she thinks of you. For instance, she's about to rightfully throw me and her camera out of her class for trying to film her in that horrible dress!"_

The laughter got louder as Sam yelled at Danny, "_You are __**not**__ filming me in this nightmare frock from hell!"_

Here the picture got really jumpy as Danny was hustled out of home economics with his camera cradled near his chest. The door slammed and Danny's voice continued to narrate. "_Yeah, I deserved that."_

Now everyone was really giggling, and Danny saw some of the other students smiling at the screen. Even Lancer had on an approving look.

The giggles died down as the scene cut to Sam working feverishly on her gown at her sewing machine. "_Sam is the can-do kid,"_ Danny continued. "_If she wants something, she'll never give up—"_ The scene cut to Sam posing in front of her mirror in the half-finished dress. "—_until she gets it right." _

"_Sam cares about __**everything**__," _Danny said to open up the following screen. Onscreen, Sam climbed the fence towards the trapped badger. "_She loves her friends, she loves the planet, she loves animals."_ Sam was freeing the badger, which waddled out and bit her on her gloved hand. "_And even when the things she loves hurt her—"_ The camera clattered to the ground, missing the part where Danny Phantom came to Sam's rescue. It ended on its side in the dirt, focusing on Sam's rueful smile, "—_she never stops loving them."_

The camera cut to Sam, Danny and Tucker in the kitchen with the Easy-Bake Oven. "_So that's Sam Manson. And you're probably still not her friend. And you don't know what you're missing, because she's beautiful. Beautiful on the inside—"_ The camera cut to Sam laughing and teasing Tucker as she tossed him gummy bats. "—_and the outside."_ Sam onstage at the Skulk and Lurk, in her pretty corset and skirt, with an entire audience's faces rapt and shining as they listened to her recite.

The camera cut to the shot he'd taken of Sam as she'd fallen asleep listening to him talk about stargazing. "_So I don't care what grade I get on this video. Sam's my friend, and that's what I care about."_

Sam closed her eyes; the screen went black and the credits came up.

_A Fenton Films Production._ _Directed by Danny Fenton. Filmed by Danny Fenton. Produced by Danny Fenton. Narrated by Danny Fenton. Starring Samantha Manson. Special appearances by Tucker Foley, the crowd of regulars at the Skulk and Lurk Bookstore, and an unnamed badger. Thanks to Jack Fenton for use of camera equipment; thanks to Jazmine Fenton for use of her Easy-Bake Oven._

And in red letters was the last message, which had taken all of Danny's nerve to include.

_Special thanks to Samantha Manson, for being beautiful._

The entire room was silent for a minute, and Danny winced, visions of red Fs dancing in his head—until half the girls cried, "Awwwww!" and applause broke out around the room.

Even Lancer raised an eyebrow at Danny, as if he'd decided the boy wasn't a complete waste of time. "Very interesting, Mr. Fenton." A ghost of a smile was playing around the bald teacher's lips.

But the happy atmosphere was broken by a harsh, braying laugh from Dash Baxter. "That was so _lame_!"

Everyone turned to look at the disturbance. Dash jeered at Danny. "That isn't _beauty_," the jock said. "That's just the goth chick doing the same stuff she _always_ does."

Lancer finally smiled for real. "Mr. Fenton? Your rebuttal?"

Danny's voice held a hint of a snarl as he answered the other boy. "Sam _is_ beautiful. _Always._ Every day. Everything she does. All the time."

Silence, then Valerie cut in. "Wow, Fenton."

Danny smiled, just a little. "I'll take 'wow'."

* * *

"Oooh!" Paulina trilled as Sam trudged back into the home ec room. "That's more like it! I was getting sick of seeing you so happy these past few weeks, gothic princess!"

"What are you _doing_ here, Sam? You got _out_ of the practical. Go home," Star said, puzzled.

Sam put her spider backpack on her workstation and sank into her seat. She didn't even look at Paulina, or Star, or the two other girls who had had to remain behind and practice the areas they were weak in.

The dark-haired beauty exchanged confused looks with her entourage, then tried again. "Don't start _crying_ or anything. You'll smudge all your black eyeliner and look like a big goth raccoon!" she jeered.

Sam frowned absently at a Tupperware container of extra cookies she'd had from the day before and hadn't had time to decorate. Opening the container and selecting one, she bit rather fiercely into it.

More confused looks were exchanged. Paulina actually sounded mildly concerned as she said, "Um…Sam, I'm totally ripping on you, at an inappropriate time. Helloooo?"

Sam rolled her lips under and out as though she were smoothing lipstick, but her eyes were wet and jumpy.

Girls are a strange beast to say the least. They are sneaky, conniving, irritable, unpredictable, and will often go to great lengths to make each other cry. But should an outside force attack the gender, they will rally together at the most unlikely moments. Almost as one, the girls abandoned their tests and closed ranks around the goth.

"Sam, what's wrong?"

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Sam didn't answer, still chewing her cookie.

"It's that Danny Fenton kid, isn't it?" Star said, gritting her perfect teeth. "That _loser_."

Sam swatted at Star. "_Hey_. Don't call him that."

Another fascinating thing about girls is that when there is an attack or rejection by the opposite sex, even bitter enemies will extol the virtues of the afflicted one to make her feel better and boost her ego.

"You could do better than him anyway," Paulina said, flicking her hair. "Especially if you wiped all that black and purple stuff off your face."

Sam snickered."So not doing that. You guys are going to fail your test if you keep talking to me," she added.

"Who cares? I hate this class," Paulina whined. "I thought it was going to be fun, but really, it's just hard work, and I'm never going to use it anyway. When am I going to need to know how to sew?"

Sam looked down at the Tupperware again. "Sewing," she murmured. "That's it!" Turning to Paulina, she said, "Paulina, I know no one has ever said this to you before, but you are a genius."

"Thank you!" the popular princess beamed, not even noticing the insult.

Sam suddenly shoved the Tupperware container at Paulina. "Here. These are extra ones I had. Decorate them and tell Tetschlav you made them, okay? I know she'll give you a passing grade."

Paulina took the container, confused. "Am I crazy or are you helping me?"

"Consider it a gift," Sam said, taking up her backpack and heading for the door. "If this idea works, I'll have owed you one."

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

"**Back In Love":** Most people don't know it since I am very vocal against the impersonal, soulless mass-producing of new and recent anime (as well as the smug, self-indulgent behavior of a bunch of fanbrats trying to jump on a trendy bandwagon without knowing a lot about the classic films and series of the genre), but a lot of my favorite stories are anime. I love anime from the 80s and early 90s, stuff like _Ronin_ _Warriors_, _Tenchi_ _Universe_, _Gundam_ _Wing_, _Phantom Quest Corp_., _Record of Lodoss War_, that sort of thing, and I have a large collection of CDs full of their image songs and background music, which I play in my Jeep on long drives. The song used to open this chapter is the English title from _El-Hazard: The Magnificent World_, and it can be found on the _Best of El-Hazard _CD as well as the Pioneer release _P-Anime: Best of the Best_, which contains a lot of fun songs from classic Pioneer titles like _Moldiver_ and _Armitage_ _The Third_.

**Lancer's dream sequence:** I _loved_ writing Lancer's dream sequence, which borrowed heavily from my scant knowledge of Faerie lore (which I find fascinating). A quick index of the faerie, or _sidhe_ (pronounced "shee"): There are two courts of Faerie—the S**eelie** **Court of Summer**, ruled by **Titania**, Queen of Summer, and the **Unseelie** **Court of Winter**, ruled by **Mab**, Queen of Winter. Each court governs for half the year, hence, seasons, and according to the lore each side has little knowledge of the other. Pixies, pookas, satyrs, nymphs, elves, trolls, centaurs and the like can serve either Summer or Winter, but not everyone plays with the Courts. Iron and cold steel are dangerous to the fae, so if you run into a vengeful faerie, you'd better hope you have some on you. Both Queens are mentioned at some point in works of Shakespeare—Mab is mentioned in _Romeo and Juliet_ when Mercutio rails about the chaos of dreams, and Titania is mentioned in _A Midsummer Night's Dream_, and I thought Lancer would be very enamored of them. The **Leanansidhe** that Sam makes reference to is actually a vampire faerie who is often found out hunting with her hellhounds (once humans, of course, who were tricked into servitude). Leanansidhe is a muse, and offers inspiration to artists and writers—for a price, which is usually more than you can afford. According to the lore, all faeries love to bargain—trading is a huge part of their culture, and while making a pact with a sidhe is dangerous, breaking one is a thousand times worse—lying to the fae negates all bargains and puts you in a world of hurt, which is why Lancer's so anxious to please Titania and get her the pretty costume he promised her!

Dash refers to Danny as **Fenton Polanski** when he's teasing Sam. This is a reference to director **Roman Polanski**, who directed films like _Rosemary's Baby, The Ninth Gate, _and _Death and the Maiden_. Dash also calls Sam **"gloom cookie"**, which is the title of an excellent goth comic series by **Serena Valentino**.

**Sam's skirt:** The design for Sam's skirt with the spiderweb slit is based on a skirt that my youngest sister designed for me in her high school sewing class as a surprise My kid sister is a whiz with a sewing machine—you wouldn't believe the stuff she can stitch.

**Next chapter:** Well, now the whole thing's gone to hell, hasn't it? This is a problem that even Danny Phantom might not be able to fix!'

But I'm sure that Danny _Fenton_ can.


	8. It's True That It's You

**Author's Introduction:**

See, I _told_ you all I'd finish it. (waves a slender finger admonishingly at anyone who doubted her.) It's been a long ride, but this story—and how well it was received—has exceeded my expectations A and B the C of D. I'm really so happy that everyone's had such a good time with this. I have, too, and I'm proud to finally put a bullet in this one.

Now, it's Sunday, and you know what that means—UFOs! (tosses the final chapter on the table for the audience's perusal, then quickly exits stage left) Run for your lives!

* * *

**_Eye of the Beholder_**

_a Danny Phantom fanfiction_

* * *

**Chapter Eight: It's True That It's You**

_I know we've been friends forever, but now I think I'm feeling something totally new  
__And after all this time, I've opened up my eyes  
__Now I see you were always with me  
__Could it be you, and I never imagined?  
__Could it be, suddenly, I'm falling for you?  
__Could it be you were right here beside me, and I never knew?  
__Could it be that it's true that it's you, that it's you?  
__Because today is the start of the rest of our lives  
__I can see it in your eyes  
__But it's real, and it's true, and it's just me and you  
__Could it be that it's true—that it's you?_

* * *

The air in Mr. Lancer's classroom was still with anticipation. Every video essay had been screened, and now all that remained was to grade the final film and prove once and for all who had the more beautiful subject—Dash Baxter or Danny Fenton. 

The two adversaries stared each other down like a bad Western. Danny had an urge to pull an imaginary trusty six-shooter. Dash folded his arms across his barrel chest, trying to look casual, as if he knew he had the whole thing in the bag, but his eyes scanned the room like nervous radar, gauging reactions, looking for reassurance.

But there was only one person in the room who had control over the final verdict. Mr. Lancer's brows arched as the two boys bristled at each other. "Mr. Fenton," he said calmly, interrupting the standoff. "While your video's subject was a bit more conventional than Mr. Baxter's, your use of freeze-frame was clever and humorous and your narration was very well done. Your explanation of why you chose your subject was also very interesting. I did note the absence of a soundtrack; including music might have added to the mood of the piece. Barring that, this is a solid, touching piece of work." The bald teacher's expression broke into a rare, benevolent smile, eyes twinkling as if he'd decided Danny wasn't a complete waste of time. "You get an A."

Despite himself, Danny blinked, a smile threatening his face. "Really? An A?"

Lancer nodded. "Good job. Let's see you keep it up for the rest of the term."

"All right, Danny!" Valerie cheered, grinning at her friend.

Tucker clapped Danny on the shoulder. "Way to go, man."

Danny smacked a fist down on the desk in triumph. "Yes! I can't wait to tell—"

Like a power failure, the smile fizzled and blinked, dropping from Danny's face. His shoulders slumped with the weight of his earlier tragedy.

The bell rang. "Class dismissed, everyone," Lancer said. "Have a good weekend—I think we could all use a few days' rest. See you on Monday."

The students, happy to be free, stampeded for the door. Smiling appreciatively at their enthusiasm, Lancer let them pass—all except one. Stepping in front of the door, he fought a smirk as Dash skidded to a halt to avoid a collision.

"Not so fast, Mr. Baxter. I believe you owe Mr. Fenton a set of car keys to be returned on Monday."

Dash looked horrified that Lancer even _knew_ the terms of the wager, let alone that he was helping to enforce it. Danny chuckled, unable to believe that Lancer was on his side for once. The jock grumbled, reaching into the pocket of his letter jacket and producing the keys, which were on a ring attached to a metal "#1" in the Casper High colors. He shoved them at Danny. "You'd better not even _scratch _my car, Fenton, or you are so dead!"

"Don't worry, Dash. I'll show your ride a good time." Danny grinned—a weak grin, but a grin nonetheless—and twirled the keys around his finger. Dash's face turned bright red and he strode out the door on a wave of muttered curse words. Valerie and Tucker followed the jock out into the hallway, stealing glances back at Danny, who remained in his chair, staring at the keys.

Lancer's smirk relaxed as he addressed his student. "Congratulations, Mr. Fenton. You deserve your A."

Danny sighed, leaning back in his chair, playing absently with the keys. "Thanks, Mr. Lancer, but I'm not sure the ride's worth the price of the ticket."

"Remember what I told you," he said. "Don't give up."

Danny smiled, getting out of his chair and heading for the door. "I gotta tell you, Mr. Lancer, I'm always learning in your class."

Lancer returned to his desk, shaking his head. It was compliments like that that helped him get out of bed every morning and write lesson plans long into the night—to teach more than just equations and passages from novels.

* * *

The home-ec class was packing up their things when Danny burst into the room. "Sam?" 

"Hi Danny," Paulina cooed, waving her perfectly manicured nails at him. "Where's your camera?"

Willing himself to be polite even in his haste, to sound calm, he asked, "Where is Sam?"

Paulina's empty eyes went wide. "Oh. She gave me some cookies to help me out with my project, and then she left early. Said she was sick."

Danny was feeling pretty sick himself. "When did she leave?"

"About twenty minutes ago," Star interjected, licking frosting over her fingers. "She wouldn't tell us where she was going, just that she didn't feel good." The blonde satellite shrugged. "It must have been pretty bad to make her that upset, though. She looked like she was crying."

Danny wanted to go ghost, then split himself in two so he could beat the hell out of himself.

"Wait, where are you going?" Paulina called as Danny sprinted back out into the hallway.

* * *

"Should we chase after him?" Valerie asked, watching Danny go by as she and Tucker sat in the hallway. 

"I know it feels like we should, but we probably shouldn't," Tucker said. "He just needs to go find her. They'll work it out. They always do."

Valerie chuckled. "If this is how the first video assignment went, I'm scared to death of the final!"

Tucker laughed. "No, I got it, I got it. You want to know the _real_ tragedy of this? Danny's gone and Sam's gone, which means _I_ don't have a ride home!"

"You're horrible!" Shoving him playfully, Valerie snorted. "If you're looking for something to do, come with me to work."

Tucker's face fell. "No way, girl. I can't go _near_ that place. I don't want to get Nasty Sauce thrown all over me!"

Valerie gave him a look and grabbed his arm. "Oh, come on, you big baby. I'm sure the protesters are gone by now and the regular customers have found their way back. I'll give you Nasty Fries. On the house."

Tucker's stomach won out. "You better be right, Gray."

* * *

Mr. Lancer smiled down at his gradebook. He had to hand it to Danny Fenton. The kid had class. And he wasn't half bad at editing either. It was a shame Ms. Manson hadn't shown up to class—he had a feeling she'd have been pleasantly surprised by the final product of Danny's filming. 

A frantic knock at the door jarred him from his thoughts. Looking up, he exclaimed, "_Circus of the Damned_! What are you doing here?"

* * *

Danny was sitting in Dash's car, hands on the steering wheel, eyes fixed on a middle distance. 

He didn't get it. He'd worked so hard. When the assignments had been given out, the idea had come to him in a flash of clarity that you usually had to meditate to have. He had wanted to use the camera to show everyone, to help them see what he saw every day—that Sam was special, that she was beautiful.

And they had seen. They'd clapped and smiled and Lancer had given him an A. And it had just been gravy to stick it to Dash and win their side bet.

But _Sam _hadn't seen the video. Sam couldn't see what Danny saw—she didn't seem to know how special she was. All she'd seen was that he hadn't been honest with her. She'd been hurt and upset when all he'd wanted to do was make her see.

The car he was sitting in was the ultimate testament to his victory, a victory over every plastic popular who'd ever laughed at them, but he didn't turn the key to start the engine. He didn't want to go anywhere, didn't want to do anything. It didn't feel right if he couldn't share his victory with the only person who could truly appreciate it.

Damn it. He'd spent too long being a coward. He wasn't going to back down this time. He turned the key, and the engine roared to life, but he took little pleasure in the rumble of the car around him. It was only a vehicle, a means of transportation. Zero to sixty down the boulevard and he was already halfway across town, halfway to where he wanted to be, halfway to Sam.

* * *

Danny rolled the window down and gave his best "scary eyes" (as Vlad Plasmius had once called them) to the bearded man hefting a bucket of Nasty Sauce. "You throw that sauce on this car and you'll be tied to its bumper and dragged down Main Street while I see how far I can push the engine." 

At a frantic wave from the man, the rest of the protesters split to allow the Ferrari to glide through the parking lot like a shining red shark. No one bothered Danny as he exited the vehicle and pointed a warning finger in their direction, then stalked through the doors.

"Gimme another Slurpster," Tucker moaned, slumping down in the booth closest to the register and the soda fountain as Danny came in.

Danny's eyes widened in horror at the sight of all the cups strewn around the techno-geek, the straws sticking from their lids gnawed beyond all sense.

"I think you've had enough," Valerie said carefully.

Tucker's eyes blazed from behind his glasses. "I'm not paying you to _count_ them. I'm paying you to _pour_."

"You're not paying me at _all_," Valerie said in exasperation. "I shouldn't even be letting you _use_ those coupons. Some of them are expired." But she filled another Slurpster and slid it to the techno-geek. "It's really not as bad as you think, Tucker," she said, trying to inject lightheartedness into her friend. "People are still crossing the picket line to come in. See? What can I get for you, Fenton?"

"Nothing," Danny said. "Have you guys seen Sam? Did she come in here at all?"

"You haven't _found_ her yet?" Tucker exclaimed. He moved over in the booth to make room for Valerie, and she sat down.

Danny slid into the booth across from them. "No," he said miserably.

Like good friends will, Tucker and Valerie put aside their own crisis when confronted with a bigger problem. "Where did you look?"

"_Everywhere_." Danny ticked off his day's travels on his fingers. "I've been to the park, the Skulk and Lurk, the zoo, Bucky's Music Megastore—I even went to Midnight Corsets. She isn't _anywhere_. I probably put more mileage on Dash's car than _he_ has."

Valerie sighed, patting Danny's hand. "Well, let's put our thinking caps on. Maybe we can come up with a place you haven't looked."

Their brainstorming was interrupted by the arrival of a guy with dreadlocks lolling on the shoulders of his PETA t-shirt and a woman in a poncho and Birkenstocks.

"Um…can we help you?" Tucker asked.

"You guys crossed the picket line?" Valerie added dryly, arching a brow. "Is the world ending?"

"Well, we wouldn't have crossed the line," the woman said, "until we saw that _he_ was here." She turned adoring eyes to Tucker.

"Yeah. Hey, man!" the guy added, smiling at Tucker. "Can we buy a chai for the guy who helped expose the poor conditions of the Nasty Burger?"

"We don't _serve_ chai!" Valerie said angrily, while Tucker closed his eyes and pulled his hat down over his ears.

"Stop _saying _that," he said through gritted teeth. "I _love_ the Nasty Burger! I'm going to do everything in my power to make sure they stay in business—even if I have to drink a million Slurpsters!" Taking a bottle of ketchup from the holder at the end of the table, he aimed it at the intruders and squirted it at them. "See how _you_ like it!" he screamed. "Take thy beak from out my heart and thy form from off my booth, hippies!"

Danny watched in fascinated horror as the protesters beat a hasty retreat. Tucker squirted some more ketchup at them for emphasis. "Dammit. Where do they keep coming from?"

"Has this been happening often?" Danny asked.

"All _day_," Tucker groaned, banging his head on the table in despair.

"Oh, _no_," Valerie cried, looking out the window. She'd just caught sight of more protesters amassing around a van that had just pulled into the parking lot. To her horror, the van had the local news station's insignia painted on its side, and some guy in a vest was hauling camera equipment out of the back. "Now they've got _cameras_. This is going to be all over the news tonight."

"Camera," Danny murmured, pounding one fist on the table. "That's it. Maybe I can get my video back long enough to prove to Sam what I was really trying to do. Thanks, you guys!"

"Good luck, Fenton!" Valerie called as Danny sprinted back through the glass doors. "Hope it works out for him, Tucker," she added, only to find that the space beside her in the booth was empty. "Tucker?"

Tucker was at the window, beating his fists on it and throwing napkins against the glass in a fit of rage. "Go away, PETA!" he screamed.

"It's going to be a long day," Valerie lamented as she returned to her post at the register.

* * *

Two hours ago, Danny had been the king of Lancer's class. Now he was practically on his knees, shamelessly begging his tormentor for mercy. 

"I've just got to have it back," he said. "Please, Mr. Lancer. You don't understand."

"I understand that if I allow you to have your video back, I'll have to allow everyone in the class to have them back," Lancer said, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers like a true megalomaniac. "And then they will be swapped and edited, and anyone who takes my class in the future will have a free pass for the entire semester's assignments. No go, Mr. Fenton."

"I'll bring it back, my word of honor. I'd only need it for an hour—less than that—a quarter."

"You _are_ upset. You're slipping into verse." Lancer sounded mildly amused. "Maybe I should get you to sign up for the drama club."

Danny nearly snarled, but he kept himself in check. If he'd ever needed to grovel, now was the time. He told himself it would be good practice, because he would probably have to repeat the performance with Sam. "Mr. Lancer, if I don't get my video back to show someone, my life is going to be ruined. This is the single most important thing I've ever had to do in the entire history of events."

Lancer's eyes twinkled. He was interested. "Dare I ask why this is so important, Daniel?"

Danny felt the blood rush to his face. He was going to have to say it, and to Lancer of all people. "I'd rather not say."

"Then I'm afraid you've given me no good reason to bend the rules in your case, Mr. Fenton. Good day to you, sir."

Panic sang through Danny's veins. "Mr. Lancer—"

"I said good day." Lancer turned towards the blackboard, the discussion seemingly closed.

"All right! All right!" Danny cried in defeat. "I need to show it to...someone. Someone needs to know...why I made that video, and I need the visual aid."

Again that twinkle in the teacher's eye as he turned back to face Danny, who was getting the feeling that he was the mouse in this game. "If you think such a vague explanation will move me, then you haven't been paying enough attention in public speaking class, Mr. Fenton. Perhaps you should take some lessons from your friend Ms. Manson. She was far more convincing when she came to see me earlier."

Danny's ears perked. "Sam? She was here?"

Lancer pretended nonchalance, but it was obvious he wanted to smile. "She showed up here about half an hour ago and asked if she could see the videos from my class—one video in particular, actually. Apparently she'd already seen Mr. Foley's—she looked a little nauseous when I mentioned it."

Danny's heart was knocking painfully in his chest, hardly daring to hope. "Did you show my video to her?"

"I asked her why she had to see it. She said that there was footage of an animal she'd rescued from a park on it, and she couldn't remember what park it was, so she wanted to see the video to make sure. I have to say I was disappointed in such a weak story, especially from a student as creative as she is."

"You didn't believe her?" Danny asked.

"Not for a second." Lancer looked smug. "We're talking about the girl who launched a campaign to free all the dissection frogs from the biology lab. And if I remember correctly, that wasn't too long after she changed the cafeteria menu to an all-vegetarian buffet and all of my top-grade steak mysteriously disappeared."

_And started fighting back_, Danny thought.

Lancer continued. "Ms. Manson wouldn't step foot on a soapbox without all her ducks in a row. There's no way she'd forget what park she was dealing with, or the exact coordinates of that park on a map, or what specific small creature she was trying to save. It was a good try, though," he added. "Good enough that I took pity on her eventually."

Danny's nerves stood on end for a second. "You let her see the video? What did she say?"

"She stammered a thank-you and ran out of here. I would suggest you have a talk with her, Mr. Fenton. She's a bright girl, but your obliviousness seems to be contagious, and there's a lot at stake here."

"Don't say 'steak'," Danny said, still remembering the meat monster.

"I didn't say _'steak'_, Mr. Fenton. I said _'stake'_," Lancer sighed. "Must we go over homophones _again_?"

"Don't have the time. I have to go catch Sam." Danny headed for the door.

"Oh, Mr. Fenton," Lancer called. Danny turned to see his teacher smirking. "What about your video? Don't you need it?"

"Not anymore, apparently." Danny ran out the door. Two minutes later, he stuck his head back in. "Oh, and thank you!"

Lancer smiled. "All in a day's work, Danny. And when you do catch up with Sam, tell her I expect her bright and early Monday to start that sewing for the drama club."

"Sewing?" Danny asked. "Drama club?"

"Well, she knew I didn't believe her ridiculous story. Rather than give up the way you were about to, she elected to bargain with me in exchange for a viewing of your illustrious film. Her gown for Ms. O'Boyle's class _was_ stunning, and the drama club _is_ putting on 'A Midsummer Night's Dream' this winter. Come Monday morning, she's my main seamstress." Lancer's grin turned positively wicked. "So don't keep her out too late this weekend, Romeo."

Danny muttered something, blushing as he escaped into the hallway.

Lancer had the last word, although no one was there to hear it. "Lord, what fools these mortals be'!" he quoted in a chuckle to the blackboard.

* * *

Danny had contemplated climbing to Sam's window, but he didn't want to be pushy when she was already upset with him. Besides, it probably wasn't good to be in a position where an irate Sam could shove him over a two-story drop. Vaulting out of the car, he ran up the front steps and rang the doorbell. The sound of chimes echoed through the big house. When no one answered fast enough for Danny, he rang the bell again and knocked politely with his knuckles. 

Still no answer. The rational part of Danny's brain (which sometimes sounded like Jazz) told him that they probably weren't home, but the paranoid part of his brain (which sometimes sounded like Vlad Plasmius) insisted that she was ignoring him. He abandoned the bell completely and knocked loudly with the side of his fist until his hand started to hurt.

Despair flooded him, but he wasn't going to give up. Not this time.

He jumped back down the steps and stood on the sidewalk, head tilted up towards Sam's window. "I know you're up there, Sam. I know you saw the video, and I know you don't want to talk to me. But what you don't seem to know is that I did all this for _you_. Beauty's in the eye of the beholder, and I wanted everybody to see what I saw, to know what I know—that you're beautiful."

He felt profoundly tired after finishing the speech. But the door didn't open, nor did Sam fling open the window and confess undying love. There was nothing but silence save for the sound of his labored breathing.

Collapsing on the front steps, he cradled his head in his hands. There was nothing more he could do. Whatever happened next was entirely up to Sam.

Feeling utterly empty, he decided to go home.

* * *

Closing the door softly behind him, Danny felt a sudden pang in his chest, missing Jazz. She would have known what to do. He wanted to go up to her room and tell her his problems, talk it out with her like she'd always wanted him to do. A phone call just wasn't the same as his sister's brow furrowed in thought, her strong hug. 

He walked slowly towards the kitchen, unsure of what to do with the rest of his night—with the rest of his _life_—if Sam truly never wanted to see him again.

But as he stepped through the doorway, there she was, sitting at the kitchen table. Her eyes were red and the tip of her nose was pink, as if she'd rubbed at it with too many harsh tissues. As soon as she saw him, she brightened, as if she were hardly daring to hope.

He allowed his own hope to show on his face. He felt as though he'd been looking for her for years and then had walked into the kitchen to find her there on some not so very special day. "Sam," he said softly, wanting to reassure her. "Boy, are you a sight for sore eyes."

She smiled back, looking relieved that he had started the conversation. It was a weak smile, watered down by a bad day and a lot of misunderstanding, but it was still lovely. "Let me guess. You were at my house?"

He chuckled softly. "Eventually. First I was at the school parking lot, then the park, the zoo, the bookstore, the corset shop, the Nasty Burger…and _then _I went to Mr. Lancer's classroom and made an idiot of myself, then I went to your house and made a bigger idiot of myself before coming here."

She looked puzzled, but didn't ask about the "idiot" part. "You went to Lancer's classroom? So did I."

Danny smiled ruefully. "I know. I went there to try to get my video back so I could show it to you. He had a lot of fun yanking my chain before he told me that you'd already come by and seen it."

She blushed, eyes darting guiltily away. "Well, I had to basically sell my soul to the Casper High Drama Club in order for him to let me."

Despite everything, Danny laughed. "Oh, yeah. He said to tell you that he wants you at school early Monday to start some kind of sewing project."

Sam buried her face in her hands. "I know. Somebody kill me. I had to promise I'd help sew the costumes for the drama club. They're doing 'A Midsummer Night's Dream'. And here I thought my sewing days were over."

It was as good a segue as Danny was going to get. Someone had to bring up the eight-hundred pound purple-backed gorilla in the room. "Was it worth it to see the video?" His voice was scratchy without his conscious control.

Throughout the course of their friendship, Danny and Sam had hugged each other a lot. But for the rest of his life, Danny would never forget how good this particular hug was, how she felt like homecoming as she collapsed almost wearily into his arms. Years later, whether they were walking side by side with their hands clasped or in the throes of an argument, he would remember this embrace and realize all over again that he loved her.

"Of course it was worth it," she murmured into his shoulder. "I'm so sorry I yelled at you. But Danny, why didn't you _tell_ me?"

He'd had a thousand answers for that question over the years, excuses he'd given to Tucker, to Jazz, to himself. They swirled in his mind for a second and then disappeared, and he gave her the truth as he now saw it.

"I don't know." Neither of them seemed able to let go of the other, and there was that hush that came over everything when they were alone together, that feeling that everything was so close to perfect.

He smiled suddenly into her hair, although she couldn't see it. "Sorry. This isn't very romantic, is it?"

She laughed, and the vibration and sound against him warmed him to his fingertips. "Well, it's not Shakespeare, but it's okay."

"I _had_ a better speech before," he said. "I spent the whole drive over to your house coming up with it. And then I wasted it on your empty house."

Sam was a lot more eloquent than he was. "I don't need speeches," she said. "Or videos. I—_wait_ a minute." She pulled back slightly in his arms, looking confused. "You _drove_ to my house? In what? Don't tell me you took the Assault Vehicle." She grinned.

He grinned back. "It's an RV, and no, I didn't. I almost forgot to tell you the best part." Letting her go, he reached into his pocket and produced Dash's key ring. Twirling it on his pointer finger, he said, "Remember that time I had to decorate Lancer's haunted house and lost that bet with Dash?"

Sam remembered; her nose wrinkled. "Yeah. Underwear sandwich."

Danny's grin widened. "Well, today I got my revenge. Come on out front. I'll show you."

When she stepped out the front door and saw the car, Sam's hands flew to her mouth. "That's Dash's car."

"It certainly is," Danny chuckled. "All mine. All weekend."

She laughed out loud, appreciating it just as he'd known she would. "But how? There's no _way_ Dash would let you drive it!"

"He would if he lost a bet and had our entire film class and Lancer around to make sure he didn't welsh," Danny said.

Sam arched a brow at him. "Dare I ask what the bet was?"

Danny allowed himself to look smug. "I bet him that I'd get a better grade on my video because I'd have a more beautiful subject than he would."

Sam's eyes popped, mascaraed lashes touching her skin all around. "Danny! I can't believe you made a bet with him at _all_, after the last time."

The smug look faded into shyness, which he tried to cover up with what he hoped was a nonchalant shrug. "This time I knew it was a sure thing."

Sam blushed. "Who says you're not romantic?" she murmured, but she couldn't resist asking, "What if you _had_ lost?"

Danny chuckled, remembering the terms of the bet. "He said I'd have to attend a whole day of classes in that dress you made for home ec."

Sam cradled her head in her hand again, but she was smiling. "I'm going to burn that thing, so I'm glad you don't have to."

"Me, too," he said, sensing that he was on a roll with the romantic remarks. "I thought it looked much better on you."

She averted her eyes and he smiled. Yes, definitely on a roll.

She ran a hand over the gleaming hood of the car. "This is amazing, Danny. What are you going to do with your prize? Drive out to Vegas? The Indy 500?"

"I was thinking something a little more local," he said, jingling the keys at her. "Want to go for a ride?"

Sam grinned and it was magic. "Yes, please."

* * *

The protesters had breached the perimeter by the time they got back to the Nasty Burger, which meant it was safe to park in the parking lot. Danny tried to avoid his eyes straying as Sam got out of the Ferrari, but it was impossible when she was still wearing that awesome skirt. 

Unfortunately, Sam's attention was diverted briefly when she saw the riot going on inside the restaurant. "What's going _on_ in here?" she cried, running through the glass doors.

"Two people came in treating Tucker like a hero for making that video. They thought he was trying to further their cause," Danny explained as he followed her inside. "They must have tipped off the rest of the group."

It was true. Protesters swarmed around Tucker's booth, waving napkins and pens asking for his autograph. Chet Ubetcha's short stature wasn't helping him out; the newscaster was having trouble shoving a microphone towards Tucker as he asked, "Mr. Foley. How do you think the Nasty Burger will respond to your clever propaganda?"

Tucker's response was to display his fist at the newscaster, a Nasty Fry sticking up where his middle finger would have been.

Danny had to laugh at Sam's horrified face. "Bet you're glad you didn't take Lancer's video class now," he said, pressing a gentle elbow into her side. "Home ec's not looking so bad now, is it?"

Sam smiled. "You know, it's usually _me_ who gets into this kind of trouble," she laughed. "Should we go try to help Tucker out?"

Danny grinned and pointed towards the booth. "Nah, I think Valerie's got that covered. Look!"

Sam followed his pointing finger to where Valerie, still clad in her uniform and visor, was trying to beat back a swell of protesters with a broomstick. Tucker huddled miserably in the booth behind her, munching Nasty Fries and Mighty Meaty Cheesy Melts being supplied to him by the Nasty Employees, who were happy to repay his loyalty to them with the best currency conceivable—food.

Valerie was fighting like a demon, yelling and sweeping one guy's feet out from under him with the broom, then turning to spray seltzer at a girl trying to breach the booth from behind.

Sam smiled appreciatively. "Just when you start to forget why you put up with Valerie, she does something cool."

Danny nodded. "Want to go eat somewhere else?" he asked.

Sam laughed. "Sounds like a plan." She reached for his hand, and he gladly took it as they walked back out into the now-quiet parking lot. He opened the door of the Ferrari for her, and she smiled as she slid into her seat. "Thanks," she said softly.

Walking around the car, Danny got in, but didn't turn the key in the ignition. "I just realized I never thanked you," he said, turning to Sam in the passenger seat.

"For what?" She smiled at him.

"For letting me follow you around with that camera," he said. "For…everything."

Sam laughed. "It's going to sound stupid, but Danny…you're beautiful."

He grinned, and then they were both laughing. And just like all the other times, he felt it, like the entire world was hushed and waiting, like he and Sam were at the edge of something so wonderful, and all he had to do was pull her near…

They came together as if it had been choreographed, and then his mouth was on hers and it felt like going ghost, like he was passing through her and blurring the lines that made them up, hands, lips, heat, impossible to tell but it was _beautiful_—

The kiss was brief, sweet; they broke apart ever so slightly, breath still mingling, to let what they'd done settle around them. The last lingering traces of doubt disappeared as he nuzzled her gently. "Sam…"

She silenced him with another kiss, and he felt it—that ferocious attention, her high-voltage love. How he wanted to be her everything—

"Danny," she sighed happily. How long he'd waited to hear her say his name like that.

He helped her to him, holding her carefully as she crawled across the gear shift and into his lap. A purr rumbled in his throat as she straddled him; he put his arms around her to hold her close as their mouths locked again. The pressure of her slight weight in his lap was torture; what bare skin he touched was fever-warm. Sam, his best friend, the first girl he'd ever kissed—even if it had been a fake-out make-out—and all this time he could have had her in his arms like _this_. He pressed his tongue against the seam of her lips in a plea for entrance and Sam, who never yielded to anything or anyone, willingly opened her mouth to him. She slid her arms around his neck and made a pleased sound against his mouth.

The kisses were breathless, a little desperate at first with the pent-up energy of years of longing, but her body knew how to curve against his; his hands knew how to spread against her back.

"Sam," he murmured between kisses, his arms phasing out and slipping through her, making her shudder.

"Hey," she chuckled. "Don't disappear on me, Phantom."

He smiled, his eyes heavy-lidded with years of romantic tension and the agonizing excitement of having her in his arms at last. "I'm not going anywhere, Sam. "

"Promise?" She almost whispered it against his mouth.

Breaking the contact, he raised his hands to cradle her face, making sure he was looking into her eyes when he answered. "Promise."

Fever and magnetism flickered through Danny's dizzy brain as they came together again, lips and the frantic beating of two hearts in an enclosed space. Something in the back of his head thrilled at the knowledge that he could have her in his arms like this whenever he wanted, and filed that information away to remember gleefully later.

Later sounded so much sweeter when he knew for sure that she would be there, and he had to let her know how excited he was about it, had to show her somehow with his embrace. He forced her back against the steering wheel with a fierce kiss—

—but a loud blast from the horn startled them both. Tension sang through Danny's muscles and Sam cuddled into his chest, looking back and forth for the source of the interruption before she realized what it had been.

Their eyes met and they both collapsed into laughter. It was the most romantic, exciting moment of Danny's life—he'd never thought laughter would have a place in it, but it felt so right to hold her as she giggled against him, and he knew what love was.

"Dash's car has a really loud horn," Sam laughed softly, a blush staining her face.

"Know what else it has?" he asked, a slow grin spreading across his face. "A big backseat."

Sam shuddered at the implications of that statement, her lips finding his. "Oh Danny."

Holding his girl tightly, Danny phased them both through to the back of the car.

* * *

_Hey, hey baby! I wanna know if you'll be my girl._

**(_Hey Baby!, _Bruce Channel)**

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Whooyahahahah! Another one down, now it's off to Tokyo to do some work with my Ronin boys.

**Could It Be?:** Yes, that is the song from the _Kim Possible_ movie _So The Drama_. I like Kim Possible. It's a fun show, and anyone who says season 4 is bad, I will _fight_ you, because I love it.

**_Circus of the Damned:_** Lancer's literary reference in this chapter is Laurell K. Hamilton's _Circus of the Damned_, which is one of her Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter novels (one of the good ones, before the whole thing got out of control).

**"The scary eyes":** Vlad refers to Danny's "scary eyes" in the episode _Maternal Instinct_, which is one of my favorite DP episodes.

**Slurpster**The Nasty Burgers do not serve Slurpsters in canon, but Bueno Nacho does—also a _Kim Possible _reference.

**Midnight Corsets:** Midnight Corsets is a lingerie shop back in New York that had some cool (but expensive) pieces. It's on Austin Street, which I often miss in memory.

**Bucky's**** Music Megastore**is best known for hosting Ember McLain's ticket giveaway in _Fanning__ the Flames._ Likewise, references are made to the zoo in _One of a Kind_, as well as Sam's campaign to free the dissection frogs in the same episode. Lancer also mentions the vegetarian menu in _Mystery Meat_.

The protesters throwing Nasty Sauce on Valerie and anyone who tries to cross their picket line is a dig on **PETA and other animal rights activists** for the way they would throw **red paint** on anyone they saw wearing fur. Tucker tries to turn the tables on them by repaying the favor with ketchup. I'm very in favor of animal rights, but jeez, people, behave yourselves!

**Chet Ubetcha **often anchors the local news over in Dimmsdale—where it's eventually revealed that he's almost as short as Cosmo!

**"Lord, what fools these mortals be!": **Lancer directly quotes **Puck **from Shakespeare's _A Midsummer Night's Dream_, which remains one of the Bard's more fun pieces. I still like _Titus Andronicus _better, though.

**Hey baby!:** _Hey Baby! _is Bruce Channel's contribution to the _Dirty Dancing _soundtrack. It's also a fun dance cover by DJ Otzi—no one sits down at a wedding I'm at when _that _song is playing.

Thanks again to everyone who's stuck with this story for such a long span of seasons. I'm glad you like it, and hope the ending didn't fail to please. I hope I can continue to delight with my work—it does give me such great joy.

Most of all, thanks to my best friend and my best beta, Cloudwalker. She works on these things harder than I do, I think—they wouldn't happen without her.


End file.
